Anything
by iheartwriting
Summary: The war is over & Hermione, trying to figure out her life, moves into a room above The Leaky Cauldron. It is here that she runs into George Weasley, now a darker shell of his former self & grieving the loss of his twin. As George & Hermione grow close, he admits to her that he will never be able to move past Fred's death.. & that he is willing to do anything to bring him back.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: The war is over and Hermione, trying to figure out her life, moves into a room at The Leaky Cauldron. It is here that she runs into George Weasley, now a darker shell of his former self and grieving the loss of his twin. As George and Hermione grow close, he admits to her that he will never be able to move past Fred's death.. and that he is willing to do anything to bring him back. Post-DH. Ignores epilogue.

**Author's Note: **So.. I'M BACK! :)

I just need to say THANK YOU soooo much to everyone who read my fic Engaged Before the First Date and especially those who continued to favorite and review it even though it has now been nearly 4 years since I posted it! We just surpassed SEVEN HUNDRED reviews on that story! Say what!? Wow, that's awesome. And the reviews were always so nice and funny and often made my day :) So, truly, thank you so much. You have no idea how much the kind words meant to me and how happy it made me to read that you'd laughed/cried/snorted/bawled like a baby while reading my story, sometimes in public, earning you weird looks from strangers. Haha :)

Recently, I have been rereading/rewatching all the HP books and movies and I decided that I couldn't keep away any longer. I have to write some new fics!

So finally.. here I am. I'm so happy to be back and writing for the HP universe again :) I really hope you all will enjoy!

As with EBTFD, I promise I will not hold chapters hostage for reviews :P I love your reviews and they make my heart super happy, but I promise I will continue to post until the story is completed either way. Unless I die, in which case I will stop posting ;) (Also I promise not to mix up the twins' eye color in this one :P haha)

* * *

**Chapter One**

"Hermione," Harry said, fumbling to undo the zipper of my suitcase as I arranged a few books into a neat row on the tiny desk beneath the window. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Hmm?" I hummed. In my concentration to organize the books by alphabetical order, I had only half-heard him.

"I said, do you really want to.. do.. this.." he tried again, only this time his question was punctuated with awkward pauses and his final word went up in pitch at the end, like a foreigner who was learning the English language and hadn't quite yet mastered the intonation.

I turned to face him, one eyebrow raised in question, only to find him holding up a pair of my knickers, one finger hooked beneath the waistband. He was eyeing the undergarment with a perplexed expression, like he'd never seen girls' underwear so up-close.

"_Harry_," I said, snatching the garment away and then smacking his arm with it to snap him out of his strange daze.

"Sorry," he said, now looking mildly embarrassed. "Just trying to help unpack."

"I know." I gave him a friendly smile, trying not to laugh. "Thank you. And yes," I went on, now tucking the garment responsible for Harry's suddenly red face into the top drawer of the dresser in my new room, "I am sure."

Dusty little Room 113 above The Leaky Cauldron was not home by any means, but it would have to do for the time being.

"You could come stay with me at Grimmauld Place, you know. I wouldn't mind the company," he said, then adding with a slight grimace, "I'm still not quite used to how creepy that place is with just Kreacher and me staying there."

"Thanks, Harry," I said. "And you know I would love to stay with you. But," I paused to flash him a small smirk, "how would Ginny feel about that?"

Harry reached up to rub the back of his neck. "I hadn't really thought about that," he said. "But she knows we're just friends. She would understand you staying with me for a bit until you find yourself a place."

"I know she would. And I really appreciate the offer." And, honestly, it was more than a little tempting–the thought of moving in with my best friend rather than being all alone in a rented room above what could sometimes be a rather rowdy pub. I shook my head, both to pull myself from my anxious thoughts and to decline Harry's proposal. "I really feel like I need to do this on my own. Does that make any sense?"

Harry gave an eager nod. "Yeah, of course." There was a short pause before he added, "tell me why again?"

I sighed. I was tired of explaining myself and, more than that, I was tired of going over it all in my head. It felt like that was all I ever did anymore. I stayed inside my head, pondering and contemplating and trying to figure everything out. And for the first time in my life, all that thinking had gotten me exactly nowhere.

"It just doesn't feel right to stay at the burrow any longer," I said at last.

"Because of Ron," Harry said, just to clarify. He knew that Ron and I were back to bickering and being awkward around each other.

I groaned and began to pace. "I just don't know where I stand with him."

After all those years of Ron being completely clueless to the fact that I was in love with him, he had actually kissed me. In the midst of battle, he had kissed me. And I had hoped against hope that he'd finally had his big moment where he realized he'd loved me back all along... but then the battle was over, the war was won, and Ron and I seemed to be back where we started, stuck in this place where I loved him and where he had no idea how to act around me. It was infuriating. _Ron _was infuriating.

"We haven't kissed again," I said, my steps stilling. "We haven't discussed our feelings or where we stand in our relationship, if you could even call it that. Every time I try to bring it up, he just gets angry with me." I sat down on the chair beside the desk, drained by the mental exhaustion I was feeling. "And I can't exactly press him on the issue right now, can I?" I said, my voice going softer as I added, "with the family mourning Fred and all..."

Harry's gaze dropped to the floor and I knew he was thinking of Fred. And Remus and Tonks, and all the others we lost that night. And I knew he was blaming himself for it.

"And I can't go back to my mum and dad's house," I added quickly in the hopes of distracting Harry from his guilt. "Well, I suppose I could. But it hurts too much without them there."

"Hermione," Harry said, taking a few steps toward me as I, fighting back tears, focused my gaze on a frayed patch of the rug that sat on the floor before the fireplace. "Auror training starts next week," he went on. "We're going to make it safer, and then we're going to go find your parents and bring them home."

I blinked against the tears and then nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I knew he was right in wanting to wait, in not wanting to rush bringing my parents back. It had only been a couple of months since the final battle and several of Voldemort's biggest supporters were still at large. Sure, they were probably hiding, terrified in knowing that their powerful Dark Lord had been defeated once and for all, but they were still out there all the same. In all likelihood, they would remain hidden for a while, licking their wounds, but only until their anger would drive them to regroup and to seek revenge for everything they imagined they had lost with the death of Voldemort. And Harry Potter and those he loved would undoubtedly be highest on their to-kill list. That made me–and by extension, my parents–a target.

I still had my moments when I was tempted to go find them on my own, of course, desperate for the comfort only a parent's hug could provide but, just as I'd warned Harry all those times he wanted to play the hero and go off by himself, I knew that I couldn't do it alone. No; it was wisest to wait, so that is what I would do. And then as soon as was possible, we would go find my parents.

I rose from the chair and took a step to close the last bit of distance between my friend and myself, wrapping my arms around Harry's neck. Instinctively, he encircled me in his own arms, pulling me in. It might not have been the motherly or fatherly hug I was currently craving, but it was wonderful in its own way and by the time Harry had eventually pulled back, I was feeling much better than I had been just a few moments earlier.

"You know where I am if you need anything," Harry told me in a serious tone.

I gave him a watery smile as I reached up, affectionately cupping his cheek against my hand. He smiled back.

"Thanks, Harry," I said.

He gave me a tiny nod to accompany his smile as he began to back out of the room. "'Night," he said, just before he stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him.

I let out a deep breath.

Part of me was thankful to be left to my own thoughts, thankful for the privacy to put away the rest of my belongings without Harry Potter stumbling upon my unmentionables, but part of me was also anxious about being left alone. Having previously lived every day of my life with my parents, or in a dormitory filled with giggling Gryffindor girls, or surrounded by the Weasleys at the burrow over holidays, or even those months in the tent with Harry, this was the first time I'd ever really been on my own. That was frightening enough as it was but, like everyone else who had been affected by the war, there was a lot on my mind. And at that moment, I didn't particularly feel like sitting alone in the silence and facing it. So instead, I picked up my purse and made my way out of the room and down the stairs to the pub to see about having some dinner.

Much to my relief, I found that the noise of the crowd was sufficient to drown out all thoughts of Ron and my parents and my future and my career and everything else that had recently been consuming my brain and threatening to drive me mad.

I found a small, unoccupied table in the midst of the crowd and sat myself down there, patiently waiting for old Tom to make his way over to take my order. As I waited, I took the time to glance about the room, giving a polite nod or smile to any who returned my fleeting gaze.

It was only then that I noticed the boy sitting in the corner. The group of witches now standing from their table and moving towards the bar must have been between us up until that moment, blocking our view of each other, because there was no way I would have missed that bright red hair otherwise.

Sitting alone in the corner and staring with a somber expression down at the table where before him there sat a small glass of what appeared to fire-whiskey, was George Weasley.

I bit my lip at the sight of him, but I stayed where I was, simply watching him for a moment, unsure of whether or not I should go over to him.

George had changed since the night of the final battle. As a matter of fact, I wasn't sure I knew anyone who had been so grievously affected by it as George had been. He'd lost his twin that night, and I was certain I had never seen anyone grieve more deeply than George was grieving Fred.

Granted, I had seen George only twice since that night but, because my memories of him were still very much memories of the boy he'd been before, that just made the difference I saw in him now seem so much more drastic.

Having just swigged down the last of the fire-whiskey from his glass, George glanced up and looked about, likely hoping for a refill, when his head turned in my direction and his eyes met mine from across the room. For just a fraction of a second, a look of surprise crossed his face, his eyebrows raising ever-so-slightly at the sight of me. But then the moment passed and the emotion was gone, his mouth straight, bright blue eyes grown dull once more, his face unreadable. He let his gaze fall back to the empty glass in front of him.

I wavered for a moment as I rose slowly from my seat, but my fear of not knowing the right thing to say was outweighed by the hurt I felt at seeing a friend in so much pain, and so my resolve strengthened as I crossed the room. I stopped just in front of his table, my hands fidgeting before me as I stared in silence down at the boy who now seemed unwilling to look up and meet my gaze.

As I feared, I had no wise or comforting words to share. None that I thought could actually help him or reach him through his pain, at least. But, knowing I had to start somewhere, I quietly cleared my throat and opened my mouth to speak.

"Hello, George."

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**Author:** Reviews are not required but are very very loved 3 But please be kind :) I've not written a thing in months and I'll be the first to admit that I'm feeling a bit rusty!

Also, I'm planning to write a romantic Harry/Hermione fic once this one is completed (or at least near-to-being-completed) but I'm still kinda toying around with ideas for that one. If you have any thoughts on something you'd like to see written for Harry/Hermione (post-DH) let me know in a review or in a private message. I am searching for inspiration! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I just wanted to point out that this story is rated M to be safe. My fanfics tend to involve mild language/innuendos/flirtations/possible make-out sessions/conversations and situations of a romantic and sexual nature, etc.. If you are a minor or if you know for any other reason that you don't need to be reading stories that deal with adult themes, there are plenty of other fabulous HP fanfics to be found! :)

Having said that, I also do not write smut. (I've received several reviews on past fics from readers disappointed in the lack of smut when my stories are rated M so.. just wanted to be clear! :) Ridiculous flirtations, innuendos, tension, passionate snogging, awkward and/or heartfelt conversation about the subject? Yes. Explicit and smutty? Afraid not.)

Also, I suppose I should add this disclaimer that I don't own Harry Potter :( If I did, Harry & Hermione would've ended up together, Fred would have lived and continued to be successful and happy and always up-to-no-good with George, and I would be really rich.

THANKS FOR READING! :)

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**Chapter Two**

"Do you mind if I join you?" I asked when George continued to sit in silence. "I hate eating alone," I went on with a forced laugh. It wasn't entirely true, of course, but I was hoping he'd be more willing to accept my company if he thought he would be doing me a favor by it.

And it worked.

George lifted his hand, motioning to the chair across from him and though he still didn't speak, the chair magically slid out from under the table, inviting me to sit.

"Thank you."

I got settled in the seat and, now sitting just two feet in front of him, I noticed how stubbly his face was, like he hadn't shaved in a week or more. His eyes were a bit glassy as well, his nose covered in a pink flush that spread out across his cheeks and up to his one ear and I wondered how many drinks he'd already had. Whatever the number, it apparently hadn't been enough; George was now waving down Tom, motioning to his empty glass as soon as he had the old barman's attention.

"I haven't seen you in a while," I told him, trying to keep my tone light and non-accusatory.

George had completely stopped visiting the burrow, something that was a great source of grief to an already-grieving Mrs. Weasley. My two most recent sightings of George had been in the first days following the final battle at Hogwarts. George had been at the burrow with all the rest of us that next day, but he mostly sat alone upstairs in the old childhood room he'd shared with Fred, refusing to come down, refusing to eat, refusing to communicate at all if it required anything more than a nod or shake of his head. And his family, all recovering from their own wounds and trying to deal with the sudden loss of Fred themselves, didn't have the heart to push him. Finally, George had stood in the kitchen with his arms hanging limp at his sides as his mother held him in a crushing hug, and then he left. A few days passed before I saw him again, but then the day of Fred's memorial arrived. George showed up for the intimate gathering–held in the garden off the side of the burrow, a green and peaceful spot that had seen many a happy Weasley-family dinner on twilit summers' eves in years prior–but George again kept to himself in a little corner of the garden, and the moment the service ended, he disappeared once again and, as far as I could tell, he hadn't been back since. That was mid-May; it was now August.

"Yeah," George said, not looking at me as he accepted the new glass of fire-whiskey Tom was now offering him in exchange for the empty one. "I don't really leave the flat these days." I felt my shoulders relax a bit at his words, relieved that he was at least speaking now.

"Unless it's to come drink," I pointed out.

He looked up from his glass then and I was surprised to see a small smile on his face. It was dry though and didn't reach his bloodshot eyes. "Basically."

"And you do this often, do you?"

He gave a casual shrug. "Most nights, I guess."

I frowned. My instinct was to lecture him. To tell him all the reasons why drinking wasn't going to solve anything and why it would likely do more harm than good in the long run. But I knew he wouldn't listen. The twins had never paid any heed to my lectures in the past, and I was afraid that now, with George clearly in so much pain, any word of judgement would only convince him he was doing the right thing by shutting everyone else out.

He raised the glass to his lips, downing the shot in one go. He winced only slightly as he swallowed and then he cleared his throat, presumably in an effort to ease the burn there. His eyes darted up to meet mine again and he studied me for a long moment before finally saying, "It's taking everything in you to keep from lecturing me right now, isn't it?"

I felt my cheeks go warm, mildly embarrassed that I was so predictable. "What makes you say that?" I asked in as nonchalant a tone as I could manage.

"Oh, come off it," George said, something of a smirk playing at one corner of his mouth. "I've seen that look in your eye enough times to know that you're just itching to lay into me. Let's see," he went on. "What I'm doing is irresponsible. Dangerous. Selfish. Completely unhelpful, not to mention unhealthy. Does that about cover it?"

I leaned back in my seat, my arms crossing defensively across my chest. "If you already realize all of those things, why are you still doing it?"

George gave a humorless laugh. "Because it works."

"I'm sorry, George," I said as I shook my head. "But I don't believe that. You don't look happy at all."

"I didn't say it made me happy," was George's immediate response. His voice was suddenly softer, all traces of jest gone. "It's all still there. I know Fred is gone. I know the pain is waiting for me the second my brain clears up again. But–" he trailed off for a moment, staring down at the empty glass as he rolled it between his fingers, "–you drink enough of this stuff and eventually you go a bit numb, at least. It doesn't make me happy. It doesn't make me forget. But it's like the pain is on the other side of a glass window. I can see it, I know it's there, but it can't actually touch me. At least for a little while." He looked back up at me. "You know what I mean?"

I didn't. I'd gotten a bit giddy after too many butterbeers a time or two when I was younger, but it wasn't the same thing.

This time it was I who broke eye-contact, now looking down at my hands which were folded in my lap and wondering why I had butted in and what I possibly thought I could have done to help when I obviously hadn't the faintest idea of how to actually do that.

"Well," George said, breaking the awkward silence. "I reckon I should be off."

"Are you sure?" I looked up again, watching him and wishing I knew the right thing to say or do. "You don't have to leave."

"But I should," he said. "I don't have to be sober to see I'm making you uncomfortable."

"George, I didn't–"

"It's alright, Granger," he said, cutting me off and giving me what was still a sad, but this time genuine, smile. "It's not just you. It's everyone. No one knows how to react to me anymore. No one knows what to do or say around me. And, honestly? I don't have it in me to try and help them figure it out."

"I'm sorry," I said, unable to conceal my frown. "I just don't want to make you feel any worse than you already do. I'm sure everyone else feels the same way. Your family and friends want to help you; they're just trying to be careful, I'm sure of it."

George nodded. "I know. But trust me when I say that nothing anyone could say or do could possibly make me feel any worse than I do right now." George placed his palms flat on the table, steadying himself. "Have a good night, Granger," he said, and then pushed himself up and out of his seat.

He seemed steady enough on his feet.. until he tried to take his first step. He stumbled forward, hitting the table next to us and toppling into a rather-grizzled looking wizard sitting there. The man didn't seem too happy with the sudden invasion of his personal space.

I reached inside my purse, wrapping my hand around my wand just as the wizard placed a hand on George's chest and, with a rather rough shove, pushed him back.

"_Mobilicorpus_," I murmured, using my wand to gain control of George's body and the direction of his fall as he tumbled backwards towards our table, the back of his head narrowly missing the corner of it on his way down. Fortunately, I'd been quick enough with my wandwork and George was undamaged and upright on his feet just a moment later.

Though the older wizard was grumbling angrily under his breath, I was relieved to see that he'd returned his attention back to his meal. Returning my wand to my purse, I quickly pushed my chair back and went to George, wrapping an arm around his waist and pushing against him with my shoulder to help keep him upright. He didn't protest.

"That's the thing with fire-whiskey," he said, even laughing a bit as he slung an over around my shoulder. "You don't realize how much it's gone to your head until you try to stand up and walk."

I gave a sad sigh. "Come on, George. Let's get you home."

xx

Though it could have potentially made our trip much easier [and certainly much quicker!] I didn't dare attempt apparating with George in his current state. At best, all the jerking and spinning would likely have had George vomiting the moment we reached his flat and, at worse, his inability to focus might have left him splinched.

So we walked.

It took us a rather difficult twenty-five minutes to get from The Leaky Cauldron to his flat above the joke shop, and when we had finally climbed the last staircase and gotten the front door opened, we stumbled together into the dark living-room. George fell to the floor, groaning; I, now-panting and relieved to no longer be supporting all that extra weight, let him.

With a quick wave of my wand the room was suddenly illuminated by the dim light of a nearby lamp, and then I leaned forward, hands resting on my knees as I tried to catch my breath. "How do you do this every night without someone helping you?" I asked. "It's a wonder you manage to get home in one piece."

George flopped over onto his back. "What's it matter if I didn't?" he slurred. He wasn't looking at me, but was staring up at the ceiling instead. "Sometimes I hope for it, actually." He let out a shaking breath. "I'd rather be with Fred."

"Oh, George," I said, speaking with some difficulty over the uncomfortable lump that had formed in my throat. "Don't say that. Your family loves you. They would be devastated if they lost you too."

But his tone and countenance and actions of that evening proved that he couldn't see past his own pain enough to be considerate of anyone else's. "I guess," he said with a shrug.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You wouldn't–" I began, searching for the right way to word what I was thinking. "You wouldn't do anything stupid, would you?"

"Well, that's very subjective, isn't it? You think my drinking is stupid and you already know I've been doing that."

"George," I said, not amused by his answer, which was really no answer at all. "You wouldn't hurt yourself, would you?" I tried again, realizing I had to be blunt if I wanted a real response.

George was quiet for a long while. "I thought about it," he said at last. "Couldn't think of anything else for a few weeks there, actually."

There was a painful tightening in my chest. I had spent the last few months at the burrow worrying so much about myself and my future, feeling impatient in my desire to bring home my parents who were both alive and healthy, worrying about whether or not Ron loved me the way I loved him and whether or not he would ever kiss me again. And while I was worrying about these things that were in no way life-or-death matters, George had been here all alone, nearly consumed by his grief. So devoid of hope that he wanted to just end it all. Tears began to prick my eyes.

"But you didn't," I said in what was little more than a whisper, suddenly feeling smaller and more scared than I had been in a long time.

George took a deep breath and then released it. "I had a dream about him," he said, and I didn't need to ask to know that he was referring to Fred. "About a month ago, when things were _really _bad."

I winced as he emphasized that one word. It hurt to think that things had been even worse than they were at that particular moment, with George drunk and lying on the floor, his eyes red and glistening, the flat so empty and silent around us.

"I couldn't see him," George went on. "But I heard his voice. And he swore to me that if I killed myself to be with him, he'd kick my arse as soon as I got there and then not speak to me for the rest of eternity."

A tiny, hiccuping half-laugh, half-sob escaped me. "I'm glad you know Fred wouldn't want you to give up on living just because he's gone," I said. "He would want you to be happy. He loved you."

George reached up, roughly wiping away the wetness that had spilled from the corners of his eyes, now making speedy trails into the hair at his temples. "Yeah," he said, the word coming out loud and rough, like he was trying to sound tougher than he felt.

He cleared his throat and then pushed himself up until he was propped on his elbows.

"I'll help get you to your room," I said, moving forward and gripping him under the elbow. With our combined efforts, we got him once more to his feet.

George shook his head. "Couch is fine," he said, taking a few wobbly steps across the living-room and then collapsing onto the sofa.

I went into the kitchen to get him a glass of water, hoping I could at least convince him to keep hydrated, but by the time I made my way back into the living-room, his eyes were shut tight. He almost looked peaceful.

Quietly as I could, I set the glass of water down on the coffee table where it would be within his reach, and then took one step on tiptoes towards the front door.

"D'you want to stay the night, Granger?" George asked, his voice, though still slightly slurred, sounding completely awake.

I spun back around, startled both by the sound of his voice when I thought he'd been sleeping, and by the particular words that he had chosen to speak. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, opening just one eye to peer up at me. "I asked you to stay the night."

"Stay–stay the night?" I repeated. "If you need someone to keep an eye on you," I started, sincerely hoping that that was indeed where he was going with this, "–you should know I don't have much experience taking care of drunk people." I was just about to offer to go get Mrs. Weasley or even Harry to come help, but the sound of George's laughter stopped me.

"No, no," he said. "I was thinking I could take care of _you_, if you know what I mean."

I think he tried to wink but the effort must have been too much for him and his face, half-smooshed against the couch cushion, got stuck in a silly-looking sort of grimace.

"_George_," I began, my tone a mix of embarrassment and annoyance because, this time, I was pretty sure I _did _know what he meant. But whether I would have acted on my urge to scold him or smack him or walk out or to linger out of curiosity for what he might say next, it didn't matter.

Because George was now snoring very softly into the cushion, fast asleep.

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**Author's Note**: Thanks so much to everyone for reading, and especially to those of you who have favorited/followed/reviewed the first chapter! :) I'm so happy you've decided to join me!

Just a reminder for those who read my fic Engaged Before the First Date (and a heads up for new readers!) - I live in a bubble of denial where Fred is concerned. One of the main reasons I write HP fanfic is so I can pretend that he is still alive ;)

So, while I LOVE angst (seriously.. angst is my jam) and I feel like I can't write a decent story without it, I promise to try and leave you feeling happy at the end of it all :)

Thanks, again. You guys are awesome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors's Note: **Hello, all! Thanks so much for the continued favorites and reviews. I get far too happy when I see those alerts in my inbox.  
I realize it has taken me over a week to get this chapter up, but it is several pages longer than the first two so I'm hoping that will make up for my slowness :)  
Also, I've only recently discovered the Pottermore site and I sort of have a hard time dragging myself away from it. That is the other reason this chapter is a bit late ;)

But it's here now so I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading! (Also.. the document manager is being a pain so please forgive me for the wonky formatting! I tried to fix it as best I could but it doesn't seem to want to cooperate.)

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**Chapter Three**

When I woke up the next morning, it took me several seconds to get my bearings. The unfamiliarity of my surroundings confused me: the strange furniture, the murmur of unknown voices in the hallway beyond my door, and the absence of the Weasley family's early-morning clamor. It was only when I saw my suitcase lying on the floor at the foot of the bed that I remembered I was no longer staying at the burrow with the Weasleys but was now currently residing in room 113 above The Leaky Cauldron.

But I was sure my recent change in location wasn't the reason for the uneasiness that I presently felt in the pit of my stomach, especially now that I remembered where I was and why I was there. I rolled over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling and its exposed wooden beams. And then an image flashed in my mind of a redheaded boy doing the very same thing just the previous night. George.

That was it. I had found George the night before, sad and alone and really rather drunk. Out of concern, I'd helped him back to his flat where he had confided in me a little about his heartache and grief over losing Fred.

And then he had made the suggestion that I stay the night.

Alone.

With him.

And that was why my stomach was in knots. I flopped over onto my side, huffing into my pillow. How ridiculous. How offensive. How...

My rant was cut short by a knock at the door.

Without moving, I cut my eyes towards the door, listening. I wasn't expecting company and, with so many other rooms surrounding my own, I thought it very possible that the knock had been at the neighboring door. But then someone knocked again, quite a bit louder and more determined this time, and very clearly directed at the door of Room 113.

I sat up in my bed but made no move to get out of it, feeling certain I knew what this early-morning call was about. "No, thank you," I called out as politely as I could in my still-sleepy state. "I don't need any housekeeping."

"Well, that's a relief, considering I have no intentions of tidying your room," answered a voice that most definitely didn't belong to the housekeeper.

"George!" I said in a surprised whisper, more to myself than to him as I jumped out of bed and rushed to slip some jeans on under the shirt I'd slept in. "Just a minute!" I yelled to him, stumbling when I tried to take a step while still pulling my jeans onto one leg. I had to hop on one foot to avoid falling, but I still managed to knock my suitcase over, sending it crashing to the floor with a heavy thud.

"Granger?" I heard George say, now sounding concerned. "Everything alright in there?"

"Fine!" I called back, though I was wincing and clutching my shin where it had made contact with the corner of my suitcase. "I'll be right there," I said, and as soon as the pain in my leg faded I did a quick shimmy to get my jeans all the way up. Then with one hand on the doorknob, I paused to smooth the other over my crazy, slept-in hair, and then pulled the door open.

George was standing on the other side, looking every bit as ragged as he had the night before with his scruffy face and dark circles under his eyes. "Mornin'," he said, peering over my shoulder and into my room, glancing about the place with a suspicious expression like he'd expected to find that I'd been wrestling with a Death Eater. Then his gaze landed on the fallen suitcase and his face relaxed.

"What are you doing here?" I asked when he did not immediately volunteer the information. "It's–" I paused to glance back at the clock on the wall, "–five after eight in the morning."

"Yeah. Earliest I've dragged myself out of bed in ages," George said, but then, catching sight of my rumpled bed covers, he frowned. "Were you still sleeping? I thought all you responsible types got up with the sun."

"I'd just woken up," I said, and was glad to see his frown fade. "Did you, um, did you need something?" I went on when he just continued to linger in the doorway.

"Oh. Right. Yeah," he said, looking like he'd just remembered something. "Could I come in?"

I nodded and took a step back, giving him room to enter and then shutting the door behind him. I crossed the room to sit on the foot of the bed and George followed suit, sitting down on the corner beside me.

"Sorry for just showing up like this," he said, but I shook my head, implying that he needn't worry about it.

"It's alright," I said. "But how did you even know to find me here? Harry is the only one who knows I'm staying here; that's why I assumed you were the housekeeper."

"Yes, well, I know things, Granger," George said, trying to put on a mischievous grin. Despite his best efforts, it came across as flat. He sighed. "I saw Harry come down the stairs last night," he said, apparently giving up on his pitiful attempt at being playful. "Then I saw you sitting at the table a few minutes later. Now, unless I've missed something important and you and Harry are having a secret love affair, it just made sense to assume that one of you had rented a room here. And since Harry waved goodbye to Tom and left through the front door while you were sitting at a table perusing a menu, I figured it had to be you."

"Oh," I said with a mildly impressed expression on my face, surprised that George had been capable of such coherent reasoning, considering the state I'd found him in.

"Sorry I didn't say hello or anything," he said, now staring down into the empty fireplace across the room. "But you saw what I was like–unfit for social interaction and all. I thought about leaving as soon as I saw you sitting there, actually," he said, turning back to me with a sad smile. I couldn't help feeling a little hurt and it must have showed on my face because George then rushed on to say, "I didn't want you to have to see me being pathetic. That and I was afraid you'd run off to fetch my mum once you realized how messed up I was."

"Then why did you stay?" I asked, feeling surprised at the sudden realization that I had _not_ immediately sought out George's parents when I found him sitting drunk and alone after his several-month absence. That was just the sort of thing I would have done in the past–running off to alert the "proper authorities" who I knew would be able to handle the situation better than I could have. But I supposed I wasn't that young girl anymore. And, agree with his choices or not, George was an adult by all accounts.

"I suppose–" George was now saying, "–it just felt good to see a familiar face across the room. Even if I wasn't up for socializing. It was good to see a friend nearby."

"Ah," I said, now feeling and sounding rather sheepish. "And then I came over and ruined it by imposing myself on you and forcing you to make conversation."

George laughed. It was short and soft, but a laugh all the same. "Nah. It was nice of you. Excessively nice, actually," he went on. "I mean, no one else has gone to all the trouble of practically carrying me across town to see me safely inside my flat." He paused for a moment before adding, "not that I can remember, anyway."

"It was nothing," I said, staring down at my hands and beginning to fidget now that the conversation had turned to the portion of the evening we had spent inside his flat. I was suddenly very aware that George and I were sitting together on my bed so I got up and moved to sit in the chair instead. It didn't greatly increase the amount of distance between us, but I felt somehow more at ease for the change all the same.

We sat in what felt to be a rather uncomfortable silence for a while before I finally snuck a quick glance up at George, only to find him studying me very carefully, a small frown on his face.

"Hermione, I'm really sorry for what I did last night. For–for what I said, I mean."

I felt my face go hot. "Honestly," I said, forcing a laugh that came out sounding breathy and awkward. "I don't know what you possibly could have been thinking. I'm not that sort of girl. I don't have drunken, one-night trysts."

"No, I know–"

Another uneasy, incredulous laugh. "I mean, I've never even.." I trailed off, not quite able to make myself say what I meant. But it was clear George understood my meaning.

"What?" he said, his eyes suddenly wide. Seeing this, I rose to my feet and turned away, pretending to straighten the books on the desk. The sudden movement must have made me look every bit as nervous as I felt, but it was better than letting George see my furiously flushed face. "Yeah. No. I know!" he rambled, now sounding quite embarrassed himself.

I turned back around to face him, unable to hide the frown now tugging at the corner of my lips. "What do you mean, you know? Has Ron said something?"

"No–"

"Then how do you know?" I said, wondering if I should feel insulted. Did something about the way I carry myself scream that I was inexperienced? Was there a sign on my forehead? "How can you just know something like that about someone?"

"Well, I just assumed–" George began, looking more than a bit confused by the quick change in my temperament, "–that is to say, I didn't think–" He seemed to be struggling with his words. "It's just that you're one of the good girls," he finished at last.

I narrowed my eyes at him. I really hated it when people referred to me as a goody-two-shoes. I might be logical, I might have a healthy respect for the rules, and it was a healthy respect for _myself_ that had me still so.. virtuous.. but how anyone could consider me an uptight goody-two-shoes after all the rules (and laws!) I'd broken for Harry was beyond me. And it wasn't as if I hadn't kissed my share of boys. Viktor Krum. Ron. Cormac McLaggen. I had regretted that one immediately after, of course, but that was besides the point. The point was, I'd had opportunities and, just like every other human being on the planet, I had considered it, thought about it, fantasized over it. Just because I hadn't acted on it didn't make me an uptight goody-two-shoes.

Clearly picking up on my irritation, it was now George who narrowed his eyes. Not in anger, but in what appeared to be an attempt to look at me more closely. As if he was trying to figure me out. "_Have_ you?"

"N-no!" I said, exasperated. "But hearing you describe me as a 'good girl' makes me feel like a child!"

"I never said that," George said, shaking his head at me. "Merlin, Hermione, I asked you to stay the night with me! I should think that makes it pretty clear that I don't see you as a child."

Something about the way in which he said this made my cheeks go even warmer, a bizarre realization that I quickly shoved to the back of my mind. I returned to my seat in the chair, immediately bringing my hands up to cradle (and more importantly, to hide) my face.

This was, without a doubt, the most mortifying exchange I'd ever experienced in my life.

"Please don't do that," George said now, and I was surprised to hear a sincere note of pleading in his voice. "That's why I'm here: I came to apologize. I'd hate to think I've made things eternally uncomfortable between us."

Very slowly, I removed my hands from my face.

"That's better," George said, displaying something of a gentle if still-cautious smile.

I made myself hold eye-contact just long enough to give him an awkward smile in return but then looked away as soon as it felt safe to do so.

"So is this a regular thing for you then?" I asked, pretending to examine my nails and forcing my voice a pitch higher in the hopes that it would sound casual and at-ease.

"One night stands with witches I meet in pubs?" he asked, a faint tone of teasing to his voice.

I glanced up at him again and, temporarily forgetting that I had made a conscious effort just the night before to not behave judgmentally where George was concerned, I now gave him a look of disapproval. "It's not a healthy practice, George. There are so many reasons why–"

"Hermione–" he tried to interrupt.

But I was still rambling on. "–such a bad idea–"

"_Hermione_," he said again, more forcefully this time. "I've never done that before in my life."

Finally having been silenced, I leaned back in my chair. "Oh." I really wasn't sure if I was offended that he'd thought he could so easily have me, or if I felt secretly flattered that I was, apparently, the only one he'd asked. Fred and George had always been at-ease with themselves and confident in who they were, and this confidence had them attracting girls without them ever seeming to try. It was impossible to miss the way the other Gryffindor girls eyed the twins, even if I had always been too suspicious of them to ever really see them that way myself. But still, there was no disputing that they were handsome boys, and even I had to admit they had a certain charisma. I never could stay angry at them for very long.

"I'm really sorry," George said, interrupting my thoughts. "It just seemed like a good idea at the time." I raised my eyebrows at him, questioning that last remark, and George gave a heavy sigh, preparing to explain. "I'm to the point where I'm willing to do anything if it'll make me stop hurting for a bit," he said. "I figured you would be as good a distraction as any." His voice faded away and he looked down at the floor. I was pretty certain that, for the first time since I'd known him, I was seeing George Weasley looking ashamed of his actions.

"I see," I said, unsure of how else I should respond.

George groaned, running a hand over his face. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. That's probably a really insulting answer. With a clear mind, I wouldn't dream of using you like that." He stood up and began to pace. "Bloody hell. I didn't even give a second thought about how Ron would factor into it. I'm just–" he paused for a second as he searched for the right words. "I'm more than a bit messed up at the moment. You just happened to be there. And you looked rather fetching with your curls flying about all over the place after helping me home."

I could feel my face getting heated once more. Did George Weasley just admit he finds me fetching? I shook my head at myself. No, he said I _looked_ fetching. Past tense. In a moment when he'd been drunk and likely to find any female attractive. I shook my head at myself. Why did it matter, anyway?

"I didn't think," George was now saying, still pacing, completely oblivious to the fact that I was so heavily analyzing his last remark in my head. "I just went for it. And I'm so sorry."

"George," I said, my voice going softer than it had been all morning as I realized how truly upset he must be: the Weasley twins rarely felt the need to apologize for anything they'd done. "It's alright, really."

He stopped pacing and turned to look at me. "But it isn't. I was being a selfish git after you'd gone out of your way to be nice to me. But–" he said, holding up a hand to silence me when he saw me open my mouth to speak, "–that's why I'm here. I come bearing apologies. And an offer that I hope will help convince you to forgive me for my poor behavior."

"An offer," I repeated.

"Nothing lewd this time, I swear," he said, holding his hands up in a show of innocence.

"Okay," I said slowly, inviting him to continue.

"Right." George clapped his hands together, slowly rubbing them together as he began to speak. "Well. There's another flat next to ours–" The word got stuck in George's throat as he caught himself and I could literally see the fresh pang of grief as it washed over him, flashing in his blue eyes. I bit my lip as I watched him, afraid that he might fall apart right in front of me. His gaze fell away from mine and he stared into the corner as he said, in a much softer voice, "next to mine. Above the shop." He took a deep breath and then looked back to me. "Verity was living there, but she's moved back home now."

Relieved to see him regain his composure, I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Verity's no longer working in the shop?" I asked, both because I felt it the considerate thing to do to steer the conversation away from George's little slip of the tongue, and because I was surprised to hear this and concerned about how George was managing to run the place with so little help.

"Hmm?" George hummed. His mind seemed to have gone somewhere else for a moment. "Oh, erm, yeah. Seems she had a shift in priorities after the war. Wants to be closer to her family. Her flat has just been sitting empty ever since we closed up shop and all went into hiding back in the Spring. Anyway." He shook his head, seemingly attempting to clear his mind and get himself back on track. "I don't know what your plans are or how long you're planning on being in this place," he said, motioning around at the tiny, dusty room in which we sat, "but I was just thinking you could move into Verity's old flat."

"George–" I started to say.

"At least until you find something better–" he interrupted. "It'd be free, anyway. And you'd have a bit more privacy." With a lopsided smile he added, "and you wouldn't have to worry about improper propositions from drunk blokes; I promise not to hit on you again."

I shook my head at him, but couldn't help smiling back. "That's really kind of you," I said. "But I couldn't do that. You could be earning rent from another tenant."

"But I'm not," George said with a shrug. "The place has just been sitting there empty this entire time, and if you don't want to take it, it's just going to continue sitting there empty because I'm not making this offer to anyone else."

"Well.." I said, gently chewing the inside of my cheek as I considered it. It was tempting, perhaps even slightly more so than Harry's offer. I had only said no to his suggestion of staying with him in Grimmauld Place because I needed that sense of doing things on my own. And this arrangement with George would mean the comfort of living close to a friend, but still in my own flat, allowing me some semblance of privacy and independence. "Would you at least let me pay you what I'm paying to stay here?" I asked at last. "It's only fair."

But George shook his head. "You'll be getting a free place to stay, and my conscience will be clear regarding last night's venture into selfish git-dom." A small snort of laughter escaped me. It made him smile. "But seriously, Hermione, you let me do this for you and then I can stop feeling so smarmy for my pathetic attempt at hitting on you last night. You'd be doing me a favor, really."

"After all the times I ruined your fun at school, you are sure you want the goody-two-shoes bookworm living next-door to you?" I asked, eyeing him doubtfully.

But George just smirked. "You never ruined our fun. You might have thought you did, but we just got more creative in how to have our fun where you couldn't see it and yell at us for it." I opened my mouth to lecture George on why they really shouldn't have tested their products on first-years, but he held up a hand to silence me before I could get out a single word. "But, yes," he said. "I'm sure."

I considered this for a moment longer, wanting to make sure it was a decision I felt good about, and then I nodded. "Okay, then," I said. "I accept."

George gave a pleased nod as well. "Good."

"Good."

He took a quick glance about the room then. "Do you need help packing or moving anything?"

I shook my head. "I don't really have much. I can manage. I just need to settle things with Tom and run a few errands first." And wash up and put on real clothes, I thought as I caught sight of the small hole near the hem of the sleep-shirt I was still wearing. "Then I'll meet you at the shop later?" I said, phrasing it as more of a question.

"Yeah, sounds good." he replied. "Just stop by my flat and then I'll show you to yours and we'll get you settled in." George took a few steps across the room towards the place where I sat. "Well," he said, hesitating for a moment before holding his hand out to me.

I extended my own which he then took and shook. His hand was a little rough, understandably so after all those years wielding his beater's bat, but it was warm and he was gentle as he shook my hand.

"See you soon, neighbor," George said.

I returned the handshake, giving his hand a light squeeze. "See you soon," I said, then smiling as I added, "neighbor."

* * *

**Author's Note**: I will be out of town this weekend and unable to do any writing so, once again, I may be a bit slow in getting the next chapter up but I promise I will not forget about it or abandon it :) Rest assured that while I am out and about with family, doing family things, I will secretly be inside my head planning chapter 4 ;)

Hope you all are well and I will see you very soon with the next update!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: Oh, boy, did this chapter ever give me grief! I wrote and deleted the opening so many times that it isn't even funny. Please accept an *extra* long chapter as my way of apologizing for being so slow with this update.

I hope you all enjoy! :)

(**Edit: **Right after I put this up, I had to take it back down. The formatting was so screwy and everything was all squished together. Hopefully it's fixed now.)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

I woke up the next morning to absolute silence, snuggled down in my warm new bed in the new flat that already felt more like home than The Leaky Cauldron ever could have. After George had left my room the previous morning, I'd settled my accounts with Tom, withdrew a small amount of money from my vault at Gringotts, paid a visit to Grimmauld Place to fill Harry in on my new living arrangement, and then finally met George back at the shop later that evening.

Having heard me come in, he'd been standing at the top of the landing on the third floor, waiting for me. He showed me to my new place and treated me to a quick tour before he politely retreated to his own place and left me to get settled in. Apparently our flats were identical, save that they mirrored each other, with our living-rooms sharing a wall. He'd teasingly warned me not to go having any wild parties and that, even with just one ear, he would hear it if I did.

The flat was fully furnished as Verity hadn't wanted to go to all the trouble of moving the furniture out, so she'd left it all to George, giving him her permission to do with it whatever he wished. He told me it was mine now and that I could change or get rid of anything I didn't like, including the bed, though this one piece of furniture was actually new, purchased by George himself for me as a welcoming present. I'd insisted he didn't need to do such a thing, but then _he'd_ insisted that he really did and when he finally admitted that Verity had quite the proclivity for.. _entertaining_.. wizards in her flat, I found myself thankful for the gift.

The very thoughtful, very _comfortable_ gift, I found myself thinking as I stretched out, enjoying the sensation of the cool sheets against my warm palms. Unlike the way it had felt to wake up in Room 113 at The Leaky Cauldron, waking up in this room felt almost natural. Something about the comfort of knowing that just a few thin walls separated me from the friend living next door, and the early morning sunlight shining golden through the curtains, and the completely peaceful silence...

I sat up, listening carefully. When a good minute passed without my hearing a single sound, I frowned. To be directly above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, it was much too quiet. The few times that I'd been there, it had always been packed and so noisy that one would have to yell to be heard over the chatter and laughter and delighted squeals of the kids within.

I crawled out of bed and made my way through the flat, pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms as I went. I pulled the front door open and peeked my head out into the hallway, half-expecting to discover that George had put a _muffliato_ charm on my flat to keep from disturbing me. But beyond my door, everything was still, the shop downstairs dim and noiseless. I pulled the door shut behind me and padded on bare feet down the hall to George's door. I knocked firmly, assuming that he had overslept and was surprised when the door swung open just a few seconds later.

"Hey, neighbor," he said in a friendly but subdued tone. He neither looked nor sounded surprised to see me standing there.

"Morning," I said, taking in the sight of him. His hair was a mess, sticking up in random places and he looked as scruffy as ever, but he otherwise appeared to have been awake. "I didn't wake you, did I?" I asked, just to be sure.

"No, I've been up a while," he said, and then, like he realized that I'd been studying him, he reached up and ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it down a bit. He stepped back, wordlessly inviting me inside.

"Is the shop not open yet?" I asked as I stepped around him into his living-room. "It's so strange how quiet it is out there."

George's eyes widened momentarily, like he was surprised by the question, but he quickly shook it off by shaking his head. "Nah," he said. "Not open." And he left it at that.

"Oh." It was rather early and, considering the target demographic for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was school-age youngsters, most of whom wouldn't drag themselves out of bed for much of _anything_ before noon, it made sense that the shop would open later than most others on the street. "Do you have some time, then? I could make us some breakfast," I said, already starting towards the kitchen.

"Ah, please don't trouble yourself, Granger," George called after me.

"But I want to," I called back. I was quite hungry myself anyway. "I've been watching and helping your mum all summer. I'm getting quite good, actually." With my hand on the pantry handle, I turned back to give him a quick, proud smile.

Rather than smiling back, he was actually looking a bit worried as he watched me pull the cabinet door open. "But, Hermione, I don't really–" he began, but was quickly cut off by the sound of my disappointed, "Oh."

There was no food in the pantry. I moved to the next one and opened it. It held nothing but a half-empty bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. There was nothing in the refrigerator either.

"George," I said, turning back to face him, my arms now crossed over my chest. "Why is there no food in your kitchen?"

He sighed. "Because I don't really eat much. I don't have much of an appetite these days. Or, you know, a desire to sustain life," he added grimly.

"George," I said again, this time in an authoritative voice. "You have to eat."

"But I don't wa–Hey, where you going?" he asked, interrupting his own argument, his gaze following me as I walked back through his flat to his front door.

"I'm going to get dressed," I said, pausing in the doorway. "And then I'm going down to the shops to buy some food. When I get back, I'm making a very heavy breakfast and you're going to eat every bite I put on your plate."

He opened his mouth but I fixed him with a stern glare and he shut it again, and then I quickly turned and opened the door, walking out before he could object.

** xx**

I'd just levitated a carton of eggs, the last item on my grocery list, into the basket hanging from my arm and was making my way to the front of the shop to make my purchases when a mass of bright red hair caught my eye.

It was Ron.

For a moment, I entertained the idea of continuing on my way; I didn't think he had noticed me yet. But a pang of guilt kept me from doing just that. Regardless of our current relationship issues, Ron was one of my oldest and dearest friends. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I started towards him.

"Hey," I said as soon as I had reached him, smiling when he jumped at the sound of my voice.

"Blimey, 'Mione," he said when he turned around and saw me standing there. "You scared me."

"Sorry," I said, smiling even wider in my struggle not to laugh. His hair was an even bigger mess than George's had been, matted to his forehead in the front and sticking up in clumps in the back, clearly having just rolled [or been dragged against his will, as was more likely] out of bed.

"S'alright," he said. "It's these plimpy livers mum has me picking up for her." He shivered, holding out a package of dark black meat so that I could see. "Gives me the heebie-jeebies just looking at them. When you snuck up behind me, I thought it might be one attacking me."

"Ronald," I said, shaking my head, no longer able to contain my laughter.

His face turned pink but he gave me an embarrassed smile anyway. "So, how've you been? You know, in the three days since you..." his voice trailed off, the subject of my moving out clearly not a comfortable one.

"I've been good!" I said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically in my attempt to keep the mood light. "And you?"

"Good, good," Ron said, also sounding a bit too eager. His forced smile faded into a softer but more genuine one as he added, "It's getting easier, anyway."

I nodded. Fred's death had been a painful blow to all the Weasleys, but I had seen even Mrs. Weasley crack a smile or two in recent weeks. "Good."

We stood in silence for a moment as we each searched for something to say to the other.

"Looks like quite the banquet you're preparing for there," Ron said at last, peering over my shoulder to look inside my basket. "I'd be happy to help eat that, you know."

I rolled my eyes in a playful way. Ron was always eating everything he could get his mouth on and he knew it drove me crazy.

But he was not dissuaded by my expression of disgust for his eating habits. He just grinned and added, "There's no way you can eat all that by yourself, tiny as you are."

"Er, well," I stumbled, feeling apprehensive about this new turn in the conversation. "I'm not. I'm having breakfast with a friend."

Ron kept the smile plastered to his face, but I saw it fade fast from his eyes. "A friend?" he asked in a forcibly chipper voice. "Which friend? Anyone I know?"

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and then back again, like an odd, nervous sort of dance. I really didn't want to have this conversation here, in the middle of a shop with half a dozen witches and wizards milling about. But Ron was eyeing me closely, waiting for a response. "Yes, actually," I said, in what I hoped was a calm and steady voice. "George."

Ron's face fell. "George," he repeated. "George as in _my brother George_?"

I nodded and then braced myself, waiting for the reaction that I knew was coming.

"And you're having breakfast with my brother because..." he said, trailing off and prompting me to fill in the blanks he'd so obviously missed in his short absence from my life.

"Because I offered to make it for him," I said simply and softly.

Ron narrowed his eyes, fixing me in an unhappy stare. "It's barely eight o'clock in the morning. How is that you've already had time to offer to cook George breakfast? Why were you two even together this early? Unless–" his narrowed eyes suddenly popped open, his face going red once more, only this time I was fairly certain it wasn't from embarrassment.

"I'm living there now!" I said, trying to explain because he was so clearly getting the wrong idea about the situation.

"You're living with George!?" he roared, so loudly that a little old witch nearby crashed her trolley into a refrigerated case of bat spleens as she whipped around to look at us.

"I'm not living _with_ George," I said in a harsh whisper, hoping Ron would follow suit and lower his voice too. "I'm living _next_ to him! In Verity's old flat!" Unfortunately, this didn't seem to offer Ron much comfort.

"I had no idea that the two of you were so chummy," he said, still talking at full-volume and drawing the attentions and stares of nearly everyone around us. "I know things might not have been going well for us, _Hermione_–" he said my name in a vicious, spiteful sort of way, "–but I never thought you'd break things off with me just so you could have a go at my brother three days later!"

"I didn't break things off with us, _Ronald_! I couldn't break things _off_ because I was never even sure that we were _on_!" I said, the pitch of my voice rising to meet his, no longer caring about the people pointing and whispering around us. "And I'm not having a go at your brother!"

But if Ron heard any of what I said, he ignored it. "You know, after all the grief you've given me over the years for not being sensitive and considerate enough, I'd think you would be taking a bit of your own advice at least."

"Meaning what, exactly?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Meaning George is really screwed up right now," he said, and upon seeing the anger flit across my face, he quickly pressed on with, "It's true! We all know it! He won't come to the house, he doesn't return anyone's owls, and every time mum or dad try to pop over to his flat to check on him, he's just holed up alone, sitting in silence and reeking of firewhiskey."

"And you blame him for that!?" I hissed, feeling suddenly incensed at Ron's lack of understanding for his brother.

"Course I don't blame him! Fred's dead!" Ron took a deep breath and in that short pause, I snuck a quick glance around us. A middle-aged witch in a purple hat had apparently gone to fetch the shop's owner, and the two were now standing at the end of the aisle, the owner staring at us and looking none-too-happy about the disturbance Ron and I were causing. "I just reckoned–" Ron began, and I was relieved to hear that he'd somewhat composed himself and was speaking much more softly now, "–that you'd be smart enough to recognize that anything you think may be going on between you two is just George being messed up. You really think you'd be moving into that flat and cozying up together over breakfast if he wasn't going absolutely mental over Fred?" He shook his head, laughing a bitter, humorless laugh. "Honestly, Hermione, why else would he be so interested in you now? When has he ever wanted much to do with you before?"

I knew that a large part of what he was saying was true. George and I had never been particularly close, and if it wasn't for Fred's death, George never would have needed someone else to lean on. (And I almost certainly would have never moved into the flat directly next door to the twins.) But the way Ron worded it was cruel, the intention behind it even crueler as he sought to hurt me by going straight for what he knew would hurt most: my insecurities over whether or not I fit in or if anyone even truly liked me. It was an insecurity that he himself had reaffirmed for me in our first year, when he said hurtful things about me to Harry and our fellow classmates, laughing behind my back and pointing out my lack of friends. Harry himself never left any doubt in my mind that he liked me very much just the way I was, and of course I'd forgiven Ron when he helped save me from the Troll that Halloween night, at which point the two of us even grew to be friends. But still, that doubt lingered on inside me, always coming to the front of my mind whenever I was thrust into new social situations where I couldn't depend on my intelligence to get me through. So for Ron–the boy I'd eventually come to love and who I thought, at least for the duration of one glorious kiss, might actually love me back–to throw those words in my face, to bring me down by reminding me that I wasn't really worthy of anyone's interest after all, stung more sharply than even a well-aimed hex would have.

And I wanted to give worse back, to get in the last word, to hurl at Ron some clever little dig to hurt him the way he'd just hurt me.

But I couldn't bring myself to do it. He was hurting too. Not just over me, but over Fred. We'd all been through so much and everything was just so complicated and messy on this side of the war. Seeking to cause each other more damage would solve nothing.

So, wounded though I was, and still with everything inside of me screaming to let go and to let Ron have a piece of my mind, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin instead, and in a very rational, very polite voice I said, "Thank you, Ronald, for finally letting me know what you really think of me and for making it clear where we stand." And with a curt but civilized nod, I turned and walked away.

** xx**

Back at George's flat, breakfast making wasn't going as smoothly as I had hoped. In my anger, the pots and pans clanked and crashed against each other as I tried to send them through the air and onto the different eyes on the stove, and the eggs cracked themselves with such an angry force that they shattered and I spent the following ten minutes manually fishing the bits of broken shell out of the bowl. The bacon popping and splattering my arm with hot grease was the final straw and I began to swear under my breath.

"Alright there, Granger?" George asked from the living-room where he had been sitting quietly and watching me from the moment I'd stormed back in through his front door.

"Fine," I said in a clipped tone, stomping across the floor to collect and butter the toast that had just popped up out of the toaster. I didn't currently trust myself to magic a knife to do it for me.

When the food was finally ready, I piled our plates full and then carried them out into the living-room, placing George's on the coffee table in front of him. He just stared at it.

"George Weasley, I will hex you into next week if you don't eat."

Eyebrows raised and one corner of his mouth twitching at the threat, he picked the plate up and brought it to his lap before proceeding to take a small bite of buttered toast. A moment later however, he had put the toast down and was now simply pushing the mound of scrambled eggs around his plate with his fork. I gave an angry huff through my nose and when George looked up, he found me scowling at him.

"Oi. You're not eating either," he pointed out in an accusatory tone, pointing with his fork at my untouched breakfast.

So I made a show of picking up a slice of bacon and taking a big bite, though really I had no appetite either. My run-in with Ron had seen to that.

"And you're sure you're alright?" George asked again and this time I sighed in response.

"Aren't you curious about why I left the burrow?

George seemed to consider this a moment before he finally shrugged. "I suppose I wondered about it for a minute when I realized you were staying at The Leaky Cauldron," he said. "But it's not really my business. I figure if you want to tell me, you'll tell me." George's gaze was drawn to my restlessly bouncing leg. "And I have a feeling that you really want to tell me right now," he added in a questioning sort of way.

"It's Ronald," I said at once with an irritated groan, and George nodded like he'd expected me to say as much. "It's not _just_ him," I added to clarify. "It felt right to give your family some space. And I feel like I need to figure things out on my own for a while. But..."

"But it's mostly Ron," George volunteered with a tiny smirk.

"I ran into him at the shop this morning."

"Ah," George said, suddenly understanding all my stomping and storming about.

"He's actually jealous that I'm living here," I continued, the memory of the encounter only refueling the sense of incredulousness I felt. "He thinks I broke things off with him so I could have a go at you."

George, who had just taken his first–albeit small–bite of eggs, immediately choked on them. "What?" he said through a cough.

I nodded. "Then," I went on, "then he told me he thought I'd be a bit more sensitive. To you and what you need right now, I mean."

George raised an eyebrow. "Sensitive to me and what I need? Meaning what?"

"Meaning that you are lost in your grief and that I'm taking advantage of you because you aren't thinking clearly and would never show any interest in me otherwise, basically." With another huff, I flopped back against the back of the chair, bringing my arms up to cross over my chest.

"Merlin," George said with a shake of his head. "My little brother's a git." There was a short pause and an uncomfortable expression flitted across his face. "I could talk to him, if you want. Set him straight. Let him know that it was actually the other way around, that it was me who tried to take advantage of _you_."

I could feel my cheeks flushing. "Thanks for the offer. But no," I said, and George's face relaxed considerably. "I don't think that would be a great idea, telling Ron how you propositioned me and how I may have seemed offended but then moved in right next door to you the next morning."

"Yeah, when you put it that way," George said, biting back a gently amused smile as he watched me. "You have a fair point. Doesn't sound good, that."

I snorted a soft laugh but quickly dropped my gaze back to my plate, suddenly feeling self-conscious under George's stare.

"Hermione," he said in a gentle voice a few seconds later. "We might not have been as close as your little golden trio, but we've always been friends. Haven't we?"

An image flickered in my mind of a little bushy haired girl sitting herself down at the Gryffindor table for the very first time, a pair of slightly older, identical boys flashing identical grins as they clapped and cheered and leaned across the table to welcome her. I smiled at the memory. "Yes."

"Good," George said, returning my smile. "Then don't worry about anything else Ron said. And, honestly, the way I see it, he's had plenty of time to make his move on you and stake his claim, hasn't he?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm not a piece of land to be conquered, you know."

"Oh, I don't think anyone could ever conquer or control you, Granger," George said with a slow smile and just a hint of wickedness in his words. "It would be a right shame if they did." My cheeks were positively pink now but George paid no mind to my blushing. "I just mean to say that we could all see how you felt about him," he went on. "And he's had more than enough time to go after you if that was what he wanted."

"Yeah, I suppose so," I said, trying to look like I agreed completely, because I knew what he was saying was the truth. Still, that old adage about how _the truth hurts_ was really quite fitting for the situation, and I couldn't help frowning and wondering what was wrong with me. Why did Ron never want me the way I had wanted him?

As if knowing precisely what I was thinking, George quickly added, "that says way more about him than it does about you, Hermione. It says that Ron's an idiot."

I pursed my lips together as I fought against the smile suddenly trying to spread across my mouth. Then, feeling quite a bit better, I gave a casual shrug. "Maybe it's for the best, anyway," I said before shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth, my appetite returning. "Romance can't really be a priority for me right now, can it? I mean, there are still death eaters on the loose, my parents are in Australia with no memory of me, and I have absolutely no idea what's in my future - if I'm going to go back to school to finish my last year or if I should just look for a job straight away." I munched contentedly on a corner of toast. "At least the lack of romance means there's just one less thing for me to worry about. I can focus on more important matters now."

George gave a nod of approval. "There you go. Way to find the bright side, Granger."

I smiled at him, but then I looked down at his barely-picked-over plate of food and in a firm voice said, "Now finish your breakfast, George."

"Merlin, woman, you are a bossy one, aren't you?" he said, shaking his head. "And while I am slightly afraid of angering you, I fear I must refuse your demand." I opened my mouth to argue but George held up a hand to stop me. "If it makes you feel better, this is the most I've eaten in days," he said. "But I think my stomach must've shrunk because I feel it's very likely that I might pop if I try to eat another bite."

I eyed his plate once more. It was one piece of toast, half a piece of bacon, and a small bit of egg lighter than when I'd handed it to him. "Fine," I said, not entirely pleased but at least glad that he now had _something_ in his stomach other than alcohol. "But I'm wrapping the rest of the bacon and sausage up for later. Next time I'm over here, it better have been eaten."

George held up both hands in sign of surrender. "Whatever you say."

"Good," I said, now standing and magicking our plates into the air. "I'll just get this cleared away and then get out of your hair."

"Ah, there's no rush," he said, settling back against the couch.

I frowned. "George," I said with a glance at the clock on the wall. "What time does the shop open? Don't you need to be down there getting ready? It's almost ten o'clock."

"Well, you see," he said, a slight grimace on his face now as he addressed me. "About that."

"Yes?" I said when he didn't offer anything else.

"The shop isn't exactly open these days."

I put my hands on my hips. "What do you mean _it isn't exactly open_?"

George sighed. "I mean," he started slowly, "that I never opened it back up after the war ended."

"George–" I began, but stopped as he groaned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, cradling his face in his hands.

"Hermione, don't," he said, and he sounded so exhausted that it made me feel ashamed about my initial inclination to scold him.

"But you can't do this forever," I said softly. "You'll drive yourself mad if you just sit around by yourself with nothing to keep your mind and hands busy. And you'll run out of money eventually."

"I know," he said, his words muffled against the palms of his hands. "I just don't care."

"You don't care if you lose your flat? Your shop? The shop that was yours _and Fred's_ dream to run?"

George's entire body tensed up when I said Fred's name, like the sudden sound of it had dealt him a physically painful blow. "It was our dream to run it _together_."

I wanted to tell George that I was certain Fred would want to see him continue living out their dream, to see George grow their shop into the success both twins had always believed it could be. But that was nothing George himself didn't already know, and I knew it wouldn't help anyway, so I just kept silent instead.

Then an idea struck me. A rather good one, I thought, if it all went well.

"Will you show me around?" I asked in a careful, hopeful voice.

George removed his hands from his face and turned his head to look at me. "What?"

"The shop. Will you show me around the shop?"

He frowned. "You've been in the shop before."

"Yes, but it's been almost a year. Come on," I said, flashing him a tiny, pleading smile. "It could be fun." Being inside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was rather fun, what with its bright, colorful displays and impressive variety of products, ranging from silly to slightly dangerous to surprisingly useful and everything in between, but what I really hoped was that being down there again, surrounded by everything that he and Fred had worked so hard to develop, might make him remember why he'd loved it so much.

He was eyeing me suspiciously. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do, Granger," he said.

But I just continued to smile at him. "Please? I'll even let you feed me something that turns my hair blue or gives me a mustache," I said, and I saw one corner of his mouth twitch at the thought. Feeling that victory was near, I made an attempt at softly and slowly batting my lashes as I continued to smile. I wasn't sure if that would help anything, but it was worth a try.

George sighed but rose to his feet. "Alright," he said at last. "I give."

** xx**

It was still strange how empty the shop was, with no kids running around, laughing and joking and pranking their friends with newly purchased joke wands and sweets and crackers. Still, it was a nice change, being there alone with George, having the place to ourselves and having the freedom to peruse the various products at our leisure.

I let George talk me into using a Comb-a-Chameleon hairbrush to give me temporary waves of midnight-blue, while he willingly subjected himself to a self-propelling custard pie that I then had to _scourgify_ from his face, something that proved to be a rather difficult task considering how hard I was laughing.

And by the time we reached the display of WonderWitch products, George was smiling in earnest.

"Fancy trying anything from here, Granger? Love potion? Patented Daydream Charm? Kissing Concoction?"

"No," I insisted with a shake of my head, still laughing over the custard pie incident. "I think we'd be safer sticking with the non-romantic products, don't you think?"

A sly grin spread across his face. "Yeah, I reckon so," he agreed.

Looking away from his unsettling gaze, my eyes were drawn to a door located behind the counter just across the room. "Is that for storing extra products?" I asked.

George turned his head to follow my gaze. "Behind that black door?" he asked, and then shook his head. "Nah. That's our developing room. It's where we did all our brainstorming and experimenting and testing."

"The most unsafe room in the entire building in other words," I teased.

"Hey," he said, sounding insulted. "We only caught the room on fire once." He paused then, turning back to me with a grin. "Or twice. Per week." When I started laughing again, his smile widened. "You want to see it?"

I nodded resolutely. "Yes, actually." While at first I'd considered George and Fred's particular brand of magic to be flashy and, well, a bit useless, I'd come to realize that the quality of products they created required much more skill and ability than I'd ever given them credit for. They might have put their efforts into making a living as pranksters, but there was no disputing that George and Fred were quite brilliant.

George led us across the shop and around the counter to the door, pushing it in and holding it open, allowing me to walk through first. The room was dim and much bigger than I expected, holding several tables and chairs and shelves loaded down with rows of potions and ingredients and unfinished items waiting to be charmed and enchanted and packaged up for sale.

"So this is, quite literally, where all the magic happens," George said, rocking up onto the balls of his feet and looking around, quite the proud expression on his face. "Well, the developmental stages of the magic anyway," he said, now turning back to me with a small smile. With his index finger, he pointed to a spot across the room where the wall was charred black by what must have been a minor explosion. "Funny story, that; that's where I–" George started to say, but his words were abruptly cut off and when I heard his breath hitch in his chest, I turned my attention away from the wall and back to him to see what was wrong.

George was unusually pale as he stared down at the chair resting in front of a table just to his left. Draped over the back of that chair was a green, dragon-skin jacket. Very slowly, very carefully, he reached a hand towards it. He swallowed hard, running a few fingers over the material before gingerly picking it up, and then he just stood there, still as stone, staring into the empty space before him as he clutched Fred's jacket in his fist.

"George," I said, the sound coming out in something much like a whimper. He looked like he'd been kicked in the gut and it was all my fault for begging him to bring me down and show me around. "I'm sorry," I said. "Let's just go back upstairs, alright?"

"He's supposed to be here," George said quietly, still staring ahead at nothing in particular. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I always reckoned we would leave the world the same way we came in. Together, you know? I never imagined–" his voice cracked with emotion, forcing him to pause and then to try again. "–never thought he'd go without me."

There was silence for a moment longer, the air thick and tense around us.

And then George picked up the chair and hurled it across the room. It crashed into a couple of empty cauldrons there, ringing out with an awful clanging noise that made me flinch and jump.

But George wasn't finished.

The table before him was covered in glass jars and vials, all filled with potions and sweets. There were quills and pots of ink and notebooks still lying open, displaying page after page of what must have been Fred and George's handwritten notes. And with one sweep of his arm, George sent it all crashing to the floor. The glasses and vials shattered into a thousand glittering pieces, the contents spilling and rolling and spreading out on the floor.

George's breathing was labored and ragged as he turned his back to me and slammed his hands down on the surface of the table, the palm of the hand not clinging to Fred's jacket making a thud that echoed loudly throughout the room. His body looked so tense. Like a rubber band stretched to its limits, in danger of breaking at any second. He stood so still, so rigid, except for his head which then drooped, his chin coming to rest against his chest.

My lower lip trembled as I stared at his figure. The muscles in his arms and back were so strained and stretched so tight that I could clearly make them out through his t-shirt. I'd never seen him like this. I'd never seen _anyone_ like this.

I swayed on the spot, wanting to go to him, wanting to comfort him, but once again unsure how. This little trip down here had been an attempt to perk him up, after all, and I'd ended up only making him feel worse.

And then George started to cry. I couldn't hear the sobs, but I could see them, could see the way his shoulders trembled and shook, and tears sprung to my own eyes at the sight.

His words punctuated by jagged breaths as he struggled to speak, he said, "I feel so.. damn.. alone."

Much like he'd done moments earlier, I swallowed hard. It hurt, my throat constricting painfully, choking me on my own emotions. I took a tentative step towards George, closing the distance that separated us, and then slowly, I reached up and placed a hand on his back with the intention of offering what I hoped would be soothing, comforting circles, reminding him that, no matter how it felt, he _wasn't_ alone.

But as soon as I laid my hand on him, he straightened up.

I was afraid I had overstepped and I was just opening my mouth to apologize, but he turned suddenly to face me. I saw his face for only a blurred second, just long enough to see the trails of tears still steadily falling, and then he was moving in closer, opening his arms and wrapping them around my middle, pulling me close.

I stood stunned and stiff for just a moment in my surprise, but I quickly came to my senses. I might not have had the right words to say, but I could certainly offer a hug.

So I wrapped my arms around his neck.

George tightened his grip on me, squeezing until it was almost uncomfortable and burying his face in the crook of my neck, where his tears began to gather in salty pools. It was only then that he relaxed into the embrace. He loosened his grip but didn't let go. I reached up, smoothing my fingers over the back of his hair. With George quite a few inches taller than me, I had to stand on my tiptoes. My calves began to ache but I didn't want to pull away. And I didn't want to whisper false assurances of_ it's alright, it'll be okay_ either, because, clearly, it wasn't alright. And I didn't know when or even _if_ it would ever really be okay again. So I kept silent and we stayed just like that in that embrace, standing in the middle of the still room, broken glass near our feet and Fred's jacket now pressed against my back, still clutched tightly in George's hand.

Eventually, George's sniffles faded away and his breathing became steadier. I felt him stir, his face moving ever-so-slightly, like he was nuzzling against the crook of my neck, and I thought I felt his lips ghost the bare skin there. I sucked in a breath and held it.

The touch was so feather light that I thought perhaps it had been an accident. But still, feeling pretty certain that no one had ever touched me just there before, and the new discovery of just how sensitive a spot it actually was, set something like a small fire burning in the pit of my stomach, the warmth of it radiating out even down to the tips of my toes.

Then George's right hand came up behind me, reaching across my back and up to my hair, pulling the big, unruly curls away from the place where his face was still buried in my neck. His fingers grazed the outer shell of my ear as he did this and it caused me to shiver.

He must have felt this and taken it as a sign because he returned his attention to the skin at the base of my neck, and there was no mistaking or misinterpreting it this time as he planted there the first of what became a soft and slow trail of kisses.

The hand that had earlier been smoothing comfortingly over George's hair now tightened involuntarily, my fingers tangling in the ginger locks, tugging softly. I seemed to be having some difficulty breathing, and my knees were going weak as well.

But George must have felt this too. There was a soft rustle as something hit the floor and I realized a second later that he had dropped Fred's jacket. His newly-free hand easily slipped under the hem of my shirt, his outstretched palm coming to rest just on the small of my back, pressing firmly, both to hold me steady and to force us even closer together, until there was no space left between us.

I gasped, unable to help myself. I'd been kissed before. But nothing like this.

The hand that had been flat on the bare skin of my back now drew back until just the fingertips remained and those George dug gently into my flesh before once again relaxing and flattening his hand. Over and over he did this, these caresses that came in alternating waves of softness and.. something more desperate. It was absolutely intoxicating. And that, combined with the kisses still being pressed to the small area of skin showing at my neck above my shirt collar, it was almost too much. I felt as if I was coming apart, coming undone, and that scared me. Scared me because it felt incredible and because, even though I knew this wasn't a good idea, that it wouldn't solve anything for George and would really only complicate matters even more, I still wasn't entirely sure I wanted him to stop.

But I knew we had to.

Loosening my grip of his hair, I let go and tucked my arms back between us, something that wasn't altogether easy considering how close we were. I didn't push him away, but I placed the palms of my hands firmly against his chest to get his attention.

"George," I said, my voice little more than a shaky whisper. But it was enough. George froze, and then slowly he straightened up and pulled back.

His eyes were still red but the tears had dried. He didn't look angry anymore. He didn't look embarrassed or worried about my reaction. He didn't even look all that.. aroused, to be quite honest. (Well, perhaps a _bit_ aroused. As his gaze darted back and forth between both of my eyes, I noticed the way the pupils of his were dilated so wide that the bright blue irises were almost entirely swallowed up by the black. And he kept glancing down at my mouth.)

But more than anything, he just looked like he was hurting.

"George," I said again sadly with just the slightest shake of my head.

He dropped his gaze from my eyes and nodded once, understanding. Without a word, he pulled himself away from me, leaving me feeling suddenly chilled from the loss of his warm skin and breath, and I was surprised by just how much this disappointed me.

Then he stepped past me and began to cross the room.

I wanted to call after him, to say something to make him feel better, to make sure he knew that I wasn't upset with him, to make sure that he wasn't upset with me.

But instead I just watched him go.

And the moment he'd moved past the door and out into the shop, I heard a loud crack and knew that he was gone.

* * *

**Author's note:** Whew. I had such a difficult time getting started with this chapter.. but it eventually started flowing and now I feel like I'm finally getting back into the groove of this writing thing.

Thanks SO much to those who read and follow, and especially to those of you who have left such kind reviews. They really motivate me to write, especially at times like this past week when I'm completely stuck and feeling like everything I write is lame ;) Your reviews inspire me to keep going and to do the best job I can with it. Thanks so much for that!

And wow, Hermione's got some strong will-power, huh? ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

I didn't see George again that day.

I waited for a while in the dim developing room, hoping he might come back. When he didn't, I resigned myself to tidying up the mess he'd made of the place. I repaired the broken jars and vials to their original state and levitated them, along with the quills and ink-pots and ledgers, back to the table where I arranged them all in neat order. I straightened up the cauldrons and put the chair back at its place in front of the table.

And finally, I stooped down, picking up Fred's jacket from the floor where George had dropped it so that he could pull me closer.

My heart both raced and ached at the memory.

I folded Fred's jacket and gently draped it over the back of the chair, fingering the fabric tenderly as I let my thoughts drift to Fred, wondering what he would do or say if he could see his twin so heartbroken. Fred would know how to fix this.

But that's what this was all about, wasn't it? If Fred were there, there would be nothing to fix.

I sighed, letting my hand fall away from the jacket as I walked out.

Back upstairs, I paused outside the door to George's flat, my hand hovering in midair as I contemplated knocking. I decided against it. I wanted to check on him, wanted to talk to him, but I knew that George was upset and I didn't want to push him. When he was ready to talk, he would talk.

I hoped.

**xx**

I sat in my living room the rest of the day, my nose stuck in a newly-purchased copy of _Ministry Careers: We Have a Place for You!_ that I half-heartedly tried to read and ponder while simultaneously listening for any sign of George, for any sign that he was leaving his flat to come to mine.

But I never heard anything, he never did, and eventually I fell into a light sleep on my couch.

It was the sound of glass shattering that startled me awake a few hours later. At least, I thought I had heard glass shattering, but there were hazy images still fading from my mind's eye, the Great Hall littered with heaping piles of stones and shards of glass from the broken windows, so I couldn't be sure that the sound hadn't just been part of the same dream. Sitting up on the couch and rubbing my eyes, I listened intently.

But once again, I heard nothing.

I got up, not bothering to turn on any lights as I headed from the living-room and down the hall to inspect the two bedrooms in the back of the flat. The first room, nearly empty except for the chair and the desk upon which I had unloaded all my books the previous day, was undisturbed. The second room, the one containing my bed, also appeared untouched, the window overlooking Diagon Alley shut tight and everything in its place.

The clock on my bedside table told me that it was two o'clock in the morning and, as if on cue, I yawned. Convincing myself that the disturbance had simply been a figment of what had become a rather recurrent nightmare, and realizing that it was no longer necessary to keep an eye and ear out for George who surely wouldn't be coming by at such a late hour, I finally crawled into bed for the night, and drifted off again soon after.

When I woke up the next morning, I noted that the day had dawned much drearier than it had the day before, the clouded sky casting a dull, grey light into my room and influencing my mood accordingly. As I sat up and slowly swung my legs around to dangle over the edge of the bed, I couldn't help grumbling.

But a steaming shower, a hot cup of coffee, and a small bite of breakfast soon had me feeling better, and I was able to get through several chapters of _Ministry Careers_, jotting notes down on a bit of parchment whenever the book highlighted a potential career path that appealed to me.

But as the hours passed, I found my concentration waning and, eventually, my gaze was darting up from the page after nearly every paragraph to stare at the living-room wall connecting my flat to George's. There had not been so much as a peep (or a creak of the floorboard) drift through that wall all morning and, as much as I wanted to give George his space and not push him if he wasn't ready to talk, I was really beginning to grow uneasy with the prolonged silence.

I was standing outside his front door just a few minutes later.

"George?" I called out as I rapped a few knocks against the door. I waited in the hall in silence for a long moment but there was no answer. I knocked harder. "George, open up!" I called out, raising my voice in the hopes that it would carry further in case he was in one of the other rooms towards the back of the flat. But still he did not come to the door.

It was at this point that the uneasy feeling in my stomach gave way to full-out worry. I pulled my wand from the back pocket of my jeans and pointed it at the lock. "I'm coming in there!" I called out in warning, and then with a softly muttered _alohamora_, the lock clicked and I pushed the door open.

Everything was still and quiet inside, and I found no trace of George as I made my way through the living-room, past the kitchen, and into the hallway beyond.

"George?" I said again as I peered around the doorframe and into the first bedroom. But he wasn't there.

I wasn't sure which of the twins this room belonged to, but it was neat and surprisingly organized. Even the bed was so neatly made that it didn't appear to have been slept-in for some time. I took a few steps back out into the hallway, eyes still studying the interior of that first room even as I backed my way towards the second, when I felt something shift and crunch beneath my shoes.

Looking down I saw a few shining, silver shards of glass on the floor. I squinted my eyes against the darkness, the dull sunlight coming in through the bedroom windows not illuminating the hallway enough for me to see properly.

I pointed my wand to the floor and, just by thinking the incantation, the tip of it lit up at once, glowing with a faint, blueish light, allowing me to see the floor and the broken bits of glass more clearly. There were only a few pieces near my feet, so small that I couldn't tell what they'd once been a part of; I probably would have walked right past them without noticing had I not stepped right on top of them and felt them under my shoe. But, turning with my wand, I saw a much larger pile on the floor just outside a second doorway, the light of my wand bouncing off the glittering pieces and glinting back silver-blue in my eyes. A few cautious steps carried me further down the hall to that doorway, and I found myself then standing and staring into what was George's bathroom.

Much like in the bathroom of my own flat, there was a medicine cabinet hanging on the wall above the sink, except here the door of it was hanging at an angle, dangling loosely on one hinge and, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I suddenly understood that the sparkling fragments of silver glass strewn across the floor were all that was left of the mirror.

My feet moved more quickly now as I retreated from the bathroom and made my way to the end of the hall and into the second bedroom. It was much more disheveled than the first had been. The blankets on the bed were rumpled and bunched up like they had recently been slept in and there was a wrinkled t-shirt lying near the pillow at the head of the bed.

A slight movement caught my eye and I turned my head just scarcely to the right, finding a picture frame on top of the nightstand. In the frame there was a photo of Fred and George; I picked it up to have a better look.

They were standing in front of the shop, the building looming dark and empty behind them, the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes name not yet displayed. But both boys were beaming, their cheeks flushed and pink and their bright red hair haphazardly windswept. The photo had to have been taken the very day they left Hogwarts, I realized, because their faces looked a bit younger and they were still in their school uniforms. I watched as the boys in the photo reached out to each other, quickly straightening the other's crimson and gold tie and fiddling with random bits of hair, smoothing it down, apparently making each other presentable for the camera. And then, seemingly satisfied with they way they looked, Fred suddenly seized his twin, wrapping his arm around his George's shoulder and roughly pulling him close to his side. With a grin, George brought his own arm up, clamping a hand down on Fred's shoulder, and the two held still for the shortest moment, posing for whomever was behind the camera. They flashed identically bright smiles which were soon washed out by the flash of the camera, and then the whole thing started over, the boys once again fussing over each other, readying each other for the photo.

I watched this happy little scene play out several times before I finally set the photo back down on the table. My hand bumped into something I hadn't noticed earlier – the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey I'd found in the kitchen the morning before.

Only now, there was little more than a drop resting at the bottom.

**xx**

"Tom!" I nearly shouted as I flagged down the old barman, pushing my way through a group of witches and ignoring their grumblings as I forced my way through the small crowd to get to him. I was out of breath after my mad dash out of the flat, but that didn't stop me. "_Tom_."

"Miss Granger," he said when I reached him. He was smiling and looking pleased to see me. The man was getting on in years and clearly needed a pair of glasses if he couldn't tell that I was upset. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you seen George?" I questioned at once. "George Weasley. Twin. Bright ginger hair." I stood on my tiptoes, searching the room even as I asked this. It was a bit early for most people to be drinking, I knew that, but after discovering the drained bottle of firewhiskey, The Leaky Cauldron was the first place I expected to find George.

"Sure, sure," old Tom was saying as he nodded slowly and my shoulders slumped as I let out a relieved breath, my body immediately relaxing. But he must have only been confirming that he knew to whom I was referring, because he then added, "but no, I've not seen him today. Hasn't been in here since the night I saw the two of you sitting together, if I recall correctly."

My shoulders drooped even more, now out of disappointment. "Well," I began, still looking around hopefully in case Tom was mistaken, "if he shows up, would you tell him I am looking for him?"

I left The Leaky Cauldron feeling more worried than I had been when I went in, but not yet considering the situation entirely hopeless; there was still The Three Broomsticks and The Hog's Head in Hogsmeade to check.

Only, no one had seen him there either.

Now feeling desperate, I went–without any real hope of actually finding him there–to the one place I felt fairly certain George would not want me going. I went to the burrow.

I knew that if he wasn't there I would have to explain myself and the reason for my visit, and the thought of telling Mrs. Weasley that I couldn't find George and that he was very likely drunk, off Merlin-knows-where and doing Merlin-knows-what because he'd had a minor breakdown the day before, something that had been entirely my fault, was quite a frightening one. And in some way–perhaps because he'd told me himself that he'd been worried I'd run off and fetch his mother the night I found him in The Leaky Cauldron–I felt like I was betraying George.

Even so, I wasn't sure what other choice I had.

But once I was inside, I found that there was no one around to betray him to, because no one appeared to be home. It was a rare thing for the burrow to be completely empty of Weasleys, and I rushed around the house for several minutes, trying to make certain that I was actually truly alone... before I finally remembered the clock.

I ran back into the living-room and to the corner where the Weasley family clock hung, and quickly began to search the hands. The hands portraying the faces of Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie and Percy were all pointed roughly to the spot where seven o'clock might be on a typical clock, crowded into the space that read "work." Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Ginny were all at the ten o'clock mark, pointing to "traveling."

Together, just as their hands on the family clock had always been, Fred and George both pointed to three o'clock. "Lost."

I closed my eyes, fighting against the urge to give in to absolute panic. Then, raising my wand, I forced myself to focus and to recall a powerful memory. A squeezing hug from my mum. Harry's goofy grin. Lazy summer afternoons sitting on soft grass in the shade of a tree, brilliant blue skies above, watching the Weasleys practice quidditch in the beautiful paddock beside the burrow. My refusal to join because of my fear of flying and the look on Ron's face when George offered to give me lessons.

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch and my wand gave a tiny jerk in response. I opened my eyes and found the round, inquisitive eyes of an otter looking back at me. My patronus hovered, shimmering in mid-air, awaiting my instructions.

"Where are you?" I whispered to it, trying to keep my voice steady. "I need to see you." I took a deep breath, hoping I didn't sound as desperate as I felt as I added, "...Please come back."

I focused all my thoughts on George Weasley, repeating his name over and over in my mind, picturing his face, remembering his old mischievous grin and the sound of his laugh, and then with a gentle wave of my arm I directed the otter towards the open window and watched as it soared through and disappeared into the distance.

**xx**

"Harry!" I shouted as soon as I stepped into the foyer of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and the portrait of Sirius' mother began to shriek at once. "_Harry_!" I yelled again, this time competing with the old woman's cries of "scum!" and "filthy mudblood!"

I heard footsteps running down the stairs just a second later. "Blimey, Hermione!" Harry called out over the noise. He put his hands over his ears, his face screwed up in a grimace as he struggled to block out the sound. "What'd you go and wake her for?"

Not having the patience or time to wrestle the curtains shut over the portrait, I grabbed Harry by the wrist and dragged him off towards the kitchen, pulling him inside and shutting the door.

The annoyed expression on Harry's face disappeared the moment he got a good look at the worried one on mine. "What's wrong?" he asked immediately. "Has something happened?"

"It's George."

Mrs. Black's screeching, though certainly muted, was still clearly discernible through the closed door and Harry grabbed my hand, pulling me further into the room so that we could more easily talk. "What's happened to George?"

"He's missing," I said. "I haven't seen him since yesterday and now I can't find him and–"

Harry let out a breath that ended in a soft laugh. "Hermione, you scared me. George Weasley has never run his plans by you before, has he? He probably just went off somewhere–"

"No!" I interrupted. "You don't understand. I was with him yesterday morning." I stared down at my feet in silence for just a moment, working out in my head how best to tell Harry what he needed to know without bringing up how George had momentarily lost it and destroyed that room in the shop, or how things had gotten briefly physical between the two of us... "He got really upset and he left," I said simply, and then, so Harry wouldn't ask too many questions, I quickly went on with, "I think he went back up to his flat after that, but he must have left again some time in the middle of the night while I was asleep. This morning I went to check on him and he wasn't there."

"That doesn't mean that anything has happened to him," Harry said, frowning but sounding sympathetic and worried, about me and my current state if nothing else.

I shook my head. "He'd been drinking, Harry," I said, trying to make him understand. "He's been doing a lot of that, it seems."

"Because of Fred," Harry guessed.

"That's how this entire living arrangement and this–" I paused for a second as I struggled to think of the right word, "–this _rekindling_ of our friendship came about in the first place. The night I found George, the night you helped me move into The Leaky Cauldron, George was so drunk that he couldn't walk three steps away from our table without stumbling. That's why I helped him home."

Harry's frown had deepened. "Why didn't you tell me that? The afternoon you came by here to tell me you were moving in above the shop."

I gave an uncomfortable shrug. "George was really hesitant about even sitting with me. I'm afraid that telling anyone else how much he's really hurting would only make him angry and make him distrust me and push me away and..."

"And?" Harry prompted when my voice trailed off.

"And I don't want that to happen," I said. And I forced myself to maintain eye-contact with my friend so that he'd know how much I meant it when I added, "I feel like George needs me right now."

Harry nodded slowly. He appeared to be processing this, but he didn't laugh or crack a smile and I was thankful that he understood the seriousness of what I was saying and didn't give me any grief for it.

"Just so I'm clear," he began, "George has been having a harder time than we thought, you feel like he has let you in, so to speak, and now something has happened and he is off alone somewhere upset and drunk and you can't find him."

Hearing Harry voice my thoughts in such straightforward, well-thought-out words, made my throat tighten in an uncomfortably emotional way, but I nodded.

"Blimey," Harry muttered, reaching up and rubbing his brow as he thought. "And you have no idea where he might have gone?"

"I tried The Leaky Cauldron," I said thickly over the lump in my throat. "I even tried The Three Broomsticks and The Hog's Head."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "You've been all the way to Hogsmeade and back today?"

I nodded. "When I couldn't find him there either, I went to the burrow."

"But George hasn't been there in months."

"I know," I said. "But I didn't know where else to look. And then I remembered the clock."

Harry gave a slight roll of his eyes, the action directed at himself, I think, like he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that sooner. "Of course! So what'd it say? Surely that showed where he is?"

I bit my lip, shaking my head. "His hand on the clock was pointing to _lost_." Try as I did to keep it steady, my voice began to shake as I added, "I sent my patronus to find him nearly an hour ago. I don't think he would just stay gone, knowing I was looking for him. Would he? I just have this feeling..." I wrung my hands nervously, not wanting to voice what I was now thinking, but I couldn't shake the sense of dread that had come over me. "Harry," I said. "I have a bad feeling that something has happened to him."

Harry watched me in silence, seeming to ponder my words for just a moment before he gave me one firm nod of his head, obviously deciding something.

"Alright," he said at last. "Let's go find George."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Ahh.. I'm sorry for leaving you guys hanging like that ;) But the next chapter is already outlined, so all I have to do is type it out. I'll try to be extra quick and get that up for you by Friday!

Thanks again for all the reviews and follows and favorites! I try to always respond individually to reviews just to say thanks, but some of you are reviewing as guests or you have private messages disabled, which means I can't contact you directly. So please just know that your reviews are sooo greatly appreciated. I love hearing from you guys! It's comforting to know I'm not the only one out there who can't seem to let go of this fictional world and its characters. Especially those lovely, mischievous twins!

If I could give your reviews gigantic, squishy hugs, I totally would :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: All your worried reviews of the last chapter had me feeling so guilty (but also secretly pleased that you were all so concerned about George and wanted to know what was going on ;)) that it motivated me to finish this chapter way sooner than I'd planned. Hooray!

I had so much fun with this one and I really hope you all enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter Six**

The grey afternoon passed and the sun sank low into the west, bringing on a night that seemed particularly long and dark as Harry and I searched everywhere we could think to look for George.

We stopped by the flat once more just to make sure that he hadn't gone home in the time that I had been out, but the place was still empty.

After that we searched four different muggle pubs on the muggle street beyond Diagon Alley, thinking that perhaps George would seek out a place where he could continue drinking in peace, with no one around to recognize or disturb him.

But still we didn't find him.

Casually as we could, we checked with Bill and Fleur, and with Ginny, trusting that they wouldn't think to mention it to Mr. or Mrs. Weasley and cause a panic.

But they hadn't seen him either.

So as midnight approached and we were no nearer to discovering George than we had been when we started, Harry and I exchanged dark, apprehensive looks.

We'd discussed that our last resort would be to check Knockturn Alley, only after we'd exhausted all our other options and were beginning to feel desperate.

And unfortunately, standing in the back of a dark, muggle alley, we had reached that point.

Harry held out his hand and I could feel him carefully watching my face, studying it for any signs that I wasn't willing to do this, but I thought of George being out there somewhere, alone and looking for trouble, and I immediately put my hand in Harry's.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked. "I could go on my own."

But I shook my head at that suggestion and then let out a shaky breath. "Let's just get this over with and find George."

Harry nodded, tightened his grip on me, and then a second later we were being pulled and sucked and twisted into abnormal shapes as we apparated to a narrow stairwell just behind Borgin and Burkes.

"Just stay close," Harry said in a low voice, pulling me along as we made our way down the steps and towards the main street. "And keep your head down."

"How am I supposed to look for George if I keep my head down?" I whispered back.

"I–Well. I–" Harry stuttered as he contemplated that. "Just try not to make eye contact with people who clearly aren't him, alright?"

We stepped down from the last step and out onto the street, sticking close together and trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible as we began our search. Most of the shops had been closed to the public for the night and so the windows were dark, the buildings seemingly deserted, but we peered cautiously through the glass as we passed each storefront.

When that turned up nothing helpful, we then combed the smaller alleyways and corridors and darkest corners.

Surprisingly, most of the witches and wizards we encountered backed away from us the instant they saw Harry, a few even disapparating on the spot. But there were others who did not seem so intimidated by the boy who had defeated Lord Voldemort, and they leered at us and whispered behind our backs and trailed our steps and tried to press in on us in tight passageways.

Down one of these passageways, as Harry and I tried to shake off one of our stalkers, we suddenly found ourselves quite alone, though the sound of a woman crying indicated that there was someone at the end of the small alley. The man who had been following us stopped on the main street, looking down at Harry and me, but the sound of the cries reached his ears and his eyes went wide and then he too disapparated.

Confused, and perhaps intrigued, Harry and I exchanged curious looks and took a few steps further down the empty corridor. There at the dead-end, with her back resting against the brick, sat a lone witch. She was on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest, wispy grey hair falling past the opening of her hood and cascading down onto her shoulders, and she was crying these long, drawn-out, pitiful wails.

Freeing myself from Harry's grasp, I took a step to go to her.

Harry grabbed me by the back of my shirt and pulled me back.

"Harry," I hissed, turning to look back at him. "She might be in trouble."

He shook his head, never taking his eyes off the woman, and I slowly turned my head back around, following his gaze.

The woman was still sitting in the same place, still making the same heart-rending sounds, and I didn't immediately understand why Harry was holding me back.

And then the woman raised her head, slowly lifting and turning her face until she was staring directly at us with wild, black eyes.

I gasped, stumbling backwards into Harry.

There was blood on her face, dark and shiny and sticky looking, smeared all down her neck and around her mouth. Her twisted.. horrible.. smiling mouth.

I felt Harry tug on my shirt and the two of us began to back slowly away.

The witch didn't move, but she continued to watch us, still weeping pitifully through a mouth that was spread wide in an insane grin..

"What was that?" I asked when we'd turned the corner and made it far enough down the street that the witch's cries had faded away. "What was she?"

Harry was shaking his head, clearly disturbed. "I've no idea," he said. "And I don't think I want to find out."

We had reached the end of Knockturn Alley and were now standing in front of what looked to be a pub. It was made all of stone with a thick, dark wooden door, over which had been hung a sign that read "The Ashwinder", the words appearing above a painted serpent, pale, ash-grey with red eyes. There were dark wooden shutters on the window as well, and these had been pulled shut so that we could not see in, but we could still hear the raucous shouts and laughter and music of those gathered inside.

Taking a steadying breath, Harry pushed the door open and the two of us slipped inside to join them.

In the corner there stood a witch with a face that was painted up like a doll's, her skin as white as porcelain, eyebrows penciled-in sharp and black, and her lips painted into a perfect, blood-red pucker which stretched into a subtle smile as she watched us. A wizard in the back pulled his hood over his face with a burned and blistered hand. A scantily clad barmaid served drinks to men who pawed at her and made lewd comments in unashamedly loud, barking voices.

Harry, who already had a death-grip on my wrist, suddenly wrapped an arm around my waist for a closer, more secure hold, and began to lead me more quickly through the crowd.

"He's not here," he muttered out of the side of his mouth to me. Our attempt at being discreet wasn't working; it was too crowded in here. A group of wizards at a table nearby had turned to stare at us, talking amongst themselves as they eyed us. "We have to leave."

"But–"

"You're not going to be much help to George if you're kidnapped or murdered, Hermione," he said, now steering us back towards the door and glancing over his shoulder to keep an eye on the men who were still watching us.

There was a sudden burst of voices just on the other side of the door, somewhere out on the street beyond, jumbled shouts of jinxes and threats and cries of pain and–

"_Immobulus_!"

Harry's head snapped around to look at me. "Was that–"

"_George_!" I breathed, and Harry and I both took off running towards the door and through it, no longer caring if we attracted attention.

Just outside the pub we found a dark wizard frozen in place on the street, his wand still pointed straight ahead even though whomever he'd been aiming at was no longer there. Though otherwise immobilized, the wizard blinked, his eyes going slightly wide and giving the appearance of a rather frightened expression as a small witch in billowing black robes stepped forward, regarding and then poking him with a chilling, covetous sort of gleam in her eye.

But we had been too slow in escaping the pub; there was no sign of George anywhere nearby.

"I want you to go back to the flat," Harry said after we had searched up and down the street once more with no luck. We were walking quickly now; away from the group of dark wizards who had come out of the pub and were now leisurely trailing behind us.

"But George was just here!"

"I know. But he's not here now and for all we know, he's already apparated back to the flat."

"Harry–"

"_Hermione_," he said sternly. The wizards were getting closer. "I'll keep looking, I promise. I'll check the shops more closely and start asking around if I have to. But you go check the flat again. It's pointless for us to stay here and put both our necks on the line if George is already safe back home."

I shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. "Fine," I said at last. "I'll go look. If he's there, I'll let you know."

"Good. Great," Harry said, grabbing me by the elbows and leading us around a corner and further away from the steadily approaching footsteps of the men. "Just wait for me there. I'll come to you," he whispered in an urgent voice. "Now _go_!"

My nerves erupted in a nervous little squeal, uncomfortable with leaving my best friend behind with danger so near, but Harry's eyes were beginning to bug out of his head as he silently urged me to leave, and I knew _he_ wouldn't move to a safer spot until he'd seen me do so.

"Just be careful!" I said at last, and just as the group of wizards turned around the corner and looked up at us, I disapparated.

**xx**

When I arrived back at the shop, I found George's flat just as silent and empty as it had been all day.

So it was with hunched shoulders that I retreated, scared and defeated, to my own flat where I then proceeded to curl up on the sofa, waiting for Harry to show up.

And then I heard it. That familiar crack of someone apparating. And from the sound of it, they had done so directly into George's living-room.

Wand raised and ready, I bolted out of my flat and down the hall to George's, flinging the door open and rushing inside.

And there was George, muttering to himself words that I couldn't quite make out, steadying himself on the arm of the sofa with one hand while the other cupped the left side of his head. He pulled the hand away, grimacing in pain. It was covered in blood.

I ran over to him. "George! What happened?"

"S'nothing. S'alright," he mumbled, but he was pale and he swayed uncertainly when he tried to let go of the couch to stand up straight. He smelled like alcohol and smoke.

And he wouldn't look at me.

Reaching up, I took his chin in my fingers and gently turned his face, wincing at the sight of his ear. The old wound was reopened and the blood trickling out had soaked into the surrounding hair and was beginning to drip down past his jaw and onto his neck. I _accio_-ed a towel to try and help stop the bleeding, but the moment I pressed it to his temple he hissed in pain and stepped around me, angrily shrugging me off.

"I said it's alright, Hermione. Just leave it alone."

"You are not alright. You're _bleeding_," I said, suddenly feeling a bit angry myself, but I did as he asked and kept my distance. "Where have you been all this time? I've been looking for you all day. Did you not see my patronus?"

George sighed. "I did."

The air in my lungs came out in a deflated, wooshing sort of sound. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Then why didn't you respond? Why didn't you send yours back? You knew I was looking for you and you just let me worry myself sick!"

"I just–I couldn't."

I could feel my cheeks burning. "What do you mean you–"

"I just couldn't, alright!?" George snapped, and my mouth clamped shut, shocked by the tone in which he'd just addressed me.

For the first time since I'd entered the room, George looked at me, and his expression softened.

"I just ran into a bit of trouble, is all," he said, motioning vaguely towards his bloody temple. "It's no big deal."

I clenched my teeth, trying to keep my temper in check. "I know you were in Knockturn Alley tonight, George."

"You.. you know?" he stuttered. "How?"

"I told you. I've been looking for you all day!"

"Hermione," he said, now glaring at me, his anger swelling again. "That was a really stupid thing to do. Following me to Knockturn Alley?" He groaned and went to run his fingers through his hair, swearing profanely as he accidentally prodded the place where his ear had once been and came away with fresh blood.

I tossed the towel at him and he caught it against his chest. "Hold that to the wound," I said firmly.

He let the towel fall to the floor. "I said–" he stepped over he towel, "–it's _fine_."

"It is not fine!" I yelled, unable to hold back any longer. "_This_ is not fine! You could have been killed!"

"And I've told you that I don't care!"

"How can you say that!?" I asked, shaking my head wildly at the absurdity of what he was saying. "There are so many people who would be devastated to lose you. Fred isn't the only one who loves you, you know!"

Once again, George's entire body went stiff at the sound of Fred's name, but I didn't care this time. It wasn't fair, what George was doing. It wasn't fair, the way he was so casually risking his life when there were so many other people who cared about him. Angry, exhausted, and worried, tears began to burn my eyes. And I realized then that I was one of those people.

"I came over here to check on you today–" I said, speaking slowly and keeping my voice low so that it wouldn't crack, "–already worried because of how things ended between us yesterday morning. And not only were you missing, but your bathroom mirror was smashed to bits." As I said this, George turned away from me, looking ashamed. "You didn't respond to my patronus. And I looked everywhere I could think to look, but I couldn't find you." I cleared my throat, losing the battle in keeping my voice steady. "It really scared me."

"I didn't mean to scare you," George said, sadly shaking his head. "You don't need to worry so much about me."

"Of course I'm worried." My voice was thick and croaky and I gave up trying to fight it. "We're all worried. You're hurting. But maybe if you would just let us in, let us help you..." I trailed off, not knowing _how_ I could help, only that I desperately wanted to.

There was a sudden crease in George's brow. "Us?"

"Me. Your friends. Your family."

"My family," he repeated, an unmistakable edge of bitterness to his voice.

"George," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. "I know you haven't visited the burrow in months, and I understand if you just aren't feeling up for socializing but–" I trailed off, watching him closely. "George, are you mad at your family?"

He grew quiet and remained that way for a while, taking a few steps towards the armchair and lowering himself down to sit upon it. "Do you realize," he began, his voice soft and slow as mine had been earlier, "that the only time either of us were ever hurt was when we were separated?"

I considered this a moment, frowning as I thought back and tried to recall any instances of the twins being hurt, apart from their self-inflicted injuries and illnesses during the time when they were testing their prank products on themselves. "Well, no," I said at last, sounding unsure because I didn't know where he was going with this. "I didn't realize that."

"The night we all disguised ourselves as Harry to sneak him to the burrow, Fred and I wanted to travel together. But the adults all objected. Said we weren't experienced enough. That we should each be with someone older, more capable of fighting off the dark wizards." George was staring down at his hands, shaking his head sadly as he remembered. "Fred and I, we always protected each other. Looked out for each other. It's not just that we're brothers or best friends or even that we're twins; it's like we're two halves of the same person. I always knew exactly what he was about to do before he even did it, and the same with him. We were so in sync. Who could possibly protect each other better than we could?"

I understood the reasoning for separating George and Fred. The adults were far more experienced in fighting against the dark arts than the rest of us were. But what George said was true. It was impossible not to notice the synchronization of the twins' movements. On the quidditch pitch, fooling around in the common room, practicing defense spells in Dumbledore's Army. It was almost like they were choreographed.

"But we were overruled," George was now saying. "Forced to fly separately. And I lost my bloody ear for it. And then–" he sucked in a breath that was ragged and choked with sudden emotion, "–Then, at the final battle, they pulled us in different directions again. Bill was yelling for me to help him and Fleur while Percy pulled Fred away to deal with something else. We'd fought side-by-side, back-to-back the entire night, and then they pulled us away from each other. I remember the last time our eyes met, as Fred was following Percy down another corridor, away from me." George reached up to roughly wipe away the tears that had managed to escape. "Something about it felt wrong, but I let him go. I had no idea I would never see–"

Whatever else George might have been about to say, he cut himself off, hanging his head, currently unable to speak. He was breathing loudly and deeply through his nose, clearly struggling to keep himself together.

I moved to sit on the sofa across from him and waited silently, giving him a moment to compose himself.

"I wasn't there for him," he said at last. "I wasn't there for him, and he died."

"And now you blame your family for it?" I asked in as gentle a voice as I could. "You blame them for splitting you up?"

George shook his head, his bottom lip trembling. "Being around them just reminds me how much I blame _myself_." He hissed that last word and then suddenly moved to his feet and began to pace. "I should have stuck by his side no matter what, sod anyone and everyone else. I should have been there protecting him. I would have kept him alive. Or willingly gone to my grave with him."

"But Bill and Fleur needed you," I said, my gaze following George as he crossed back and forth across the room. "Percy needed Fred. You would exchange their lives for Fred's? You wouldn't grieve their loss?"

George stopped pacing and looked over at me, his eyes still red and watery. "Bill and Percy are my brothers. I love them and would be devastated to lose them. But, Hermione, if you want me to sit here and sound all noble and selfless and say that I wouldn't have abandoned everyone else in a heartbeat to go defend Fred if I'd known I was about to lose him, well.." He shook his head, giving me this look like he was sorry for what he was admitting, but not quite ashamed of it. "I just can't do that. I'm not that noble. And I'm not that selfless. Because Fred wasn't just my brother. He was part of me. He was part of who I am. And I would do _anything_ if I thought I could have him back."

"But you can't," I pointed out, my heart aching because I could see what this was doing to George and because I wanted so badly to fix it for him. "There's no spell that can undo death, George. You know that."

Maybe if I'd still had my time-turner. Maybe if I'd been there right when it happened. Maybe we could have gone back and changed things. But too much time had passed now. The consequences and implications of everyone's actions and decisions were too vast, too complicated. There was no telling what part of the present or future we might change if we tried to go back and prevent Fred's death now.

George's gaze had dropped to the floor once more and he swallowed hard. "There might be something," he said softly.

"George–" I started to say, but he shook his head, not wanting to hear whatever it was.

"I heard a strange rumor today," he said, still speaking softly and carefully and not daring to meet my gaze. "I heard that Harry found the resurrection stone."

"What?" I gasped. "Where did you hear that?"

"So it's true," George said with suddenly wide eyes. "Does he still have it?"

"George, who told you that?" I hissed in a whisper like I was afraid someone else might hear. I was certain that Harry had told only Ron and me, though I supposed a lurking death eater might have spotted Harry with it on his way to face Voldemort..

"I don't know," George said, now sounding defensive. "No one _told_ me. I overheard a couple of wizards whispering about it outside The Ashwinder in Knockturn Alley tonight."

My hands flew up to cover my open mouth. The idea that this information was floating around, especially amongst the dark element in Knockturn Alley was unsettling. The Deathly Hallows were not a light matter, having driven many men to terrible deeds in their attempts to possess these powerful artifacts. And with the remaining death eaters likely feeling trapped and panicked as they were forced to lie low and hide themselves, there was no telling what might happen or who might get hurt if the wrong person discovered that the stone was out there and got it into their head that Voldemort might be resurrected with it.

"Is that the trouble you ran into?" I asked now, nodding towards George's reopened wound.

He just shrugged. "I guess they didn't like me listening in on the conversation. Afraid I'd get to looking for the stone and find it before them, I reckon."

"But of course you wouldn't," I said. "Right?"

But George just stared down at the floor, silent and stone-faced.

"George," I breathed. "You wouldn't. You couldn't possibly."

His head snapped back up. "Couldn't possibly need my twin back? Couldn't want to remember what it's like to sleep a single night through without waking up trembling and covered in sweat from the nightmares? Couldn't want to laugh? To be happy again?"

"I know you miss Fred. But you can't be really considering this," I said, my voice weak and shaking.

"How can I _not_ consider it? Look at me." He raised his hands to motion to himself, eyes bloodshot, face exhausted and strained, his clothes splattered with his own blood. "I can't do this, Hermione. I am not going to survive without him; I can feel it."

I shook my head, refusing to believe that. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You are stronger than you think you are." George opened his mouth to argue so I immediately pushed on with, "You know it doesn't truly bring people back! He'll be just a shade of who he was, George. You know the story; Cadmus Peverell's love wasn't herself when he brought her back. She was miserable and he ended up killing himself so that he could truly be with her."

"Yes, I know the story," George said, waving an exasperated and impatient hand through the air. "But that was them. This is Fred! This is different."

"George–"

"No. You don't understand!"

"Then help me understand!"

He opened his mouth and started to say something but quickly stopped himself, shaking his head. "I can't. It wouldn't make sense to you. It barely makes sense to _me_. I just know that it would be different for Fred."

"I know you want to believe that but–"

"You know what, Hermione?" George interrupted, turning away from me. "Just forget it. I should have known better than to come to you with this."

I stared at his profile with wide eyes, confused and hurt. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that after everything you've done to help Harry and my brother, I thought maybe I could count on you to help me too." His voice grew cold and he added, "I was wrong."

"But that's.. that's not fair," I stammered.

"Yeah, well, nothing is. I'll just have to do this on my own without any help from you."

"I do want to help you, George! That's all I've been trying to do since the night I found you at The Leaky Cauldron."

He turned back to me, his face pleading. "Then help me with this."

My eyes began to well up with tears. "I'm sorry," I said, and his face immediately fell. "I can't. Not because I don't want to but because I don't think this _would_ help you." George sighed and began to walk away. "I know you think it would!" I called out to his back. "But that's because all you can see right now is a way to end your pain. You're not thinking it through." George had reached the front door and he placed his hand on the knob. "I don't want to do anything that might hurt you in the long run!" I said desperately.

He pulled the door open and then stood still beside it. "I'd like to be alone."

I just sat there on his sofa, tears beginning to fall as I looked up at him. "_George_–"

"Please, Hermione," he said, once again refusing to even look at me.

Sniffling and roughly brushing the wetness from my cheeks, I stood up.

I walked in silence, moving past him and into the open doorway. I wanted to turn around and face him. To say something. To beg him to listen and make him understand where I was coming from. To let him know that, despite what he was clearly thinking, I had his best interests at heart.

But as soon as I had stepped outside his flat and into the hallway, George pushed the door shut behind me. There was a soft click as he turned the lock, and the sound of footsteps retreating away from the door, and then it was too late.

**xx**

Harry was waiting for me in my flat when I got back.

"What's wrong?" he asked, springing to his feet. He'd been sitting on my sofa but jumped up when he saw my tear-streaked face. "I could hear voices next door but couldn't make out what you were saying. Is George okay?"

"He's okay," I said, speaking through a whole lot of sniffling. "I mean, he's not okay. But he's alive. He's back in his flat now."

"Is he hurt?"

"Reopened the wound at his ear, but nothing more than that."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "What the bloody hell was he doing in Knockturn Alley in the middle of the night anyway?"

"Trying to distract himself and avoid feeling how much he's hurting, is my guess," I said, still stubbornly wiping away tears.

Harry frowned at me. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head and then let my best friend pull me into a hug.

"Harry," I said with another sniffle, my voice muffled as I spoke against the fabric of his t-shirt. "What do you do when someone you really care about is about to make a big mistake?"

"Why? Is George about to do something?" he asked, and I nodded against his shoulder. "And you've told him you think it's a bad idea?" I nodded again. "Well," he said, letting out a breath as he thought about how to answer. "I suppose there's not always much you _can_ do. Sometimes you have to just let people make their own decisions, even if you don't like them."

I knew he was right, of course, but that didn't make me feel any better about it. What George was thinking about doing was dangerous. Especially if there were already dark wizards aware that the stone had resurfaced. And even if against all odds he actually managed to find it without being killed first, I didn't believe it could bring him the happiness he was hoping for.

Scared for George and finally able to feel the pressure and strain of the stress that had been building all day, I started to cry in earnest, hiding my face against Harry's shoulder and sobbing loudly into his t-shirt, unable to keep it inside any longer.

"Hermione," Harry said, and I was surprised to hear the slightest edge of laughter in his voice. "Since when do you care so much about what George Weasley does?"

This only made me cry harder, though I wasn't quite sure why. At least, not until Harry said it...

"Wait." Harry pulled back suddenly, gripping my shoulders and holding me at elbow's length as he regarded me with widened eyes. "Hermione," he said again, his voice now suspicious, accusatory, and perhaps even a bit amused. "Do you fancy George?"

I closed my eyes and adamantly shook my head, a few tears shaking free and landing with a splash on my forearm as I did so. "Noo," I insisted, but a tiny new sob escaped me, making my voice crack. "I don't know." I sniffled and opened my eyes, forcing myself to face my friend and to face what I was feeling. "Maybe."

Harry was smiling. "I thought the twins drove you crazy?"

"They did! They were always getting under my skin at school."

"But something's changed?"

I nodded, giving him a rather meek-sounding, "yes."

"In just the few days you've been spending time together?"

"Well it's not as if I just met him," I pointed out. "We've known each other for almost eight years."

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding thoughtfully. "I suppose that's true. But in those eight years you never once fancied him, did you?"

"No," I admitted. "But something feels different now. Something has shifted and, for the first time since I've known him, he's getting under my skin in a different way." I felt my cheeks go warm as I said this, blushing both because I was a bit embarrassed but also because I suddenly realized it to be true. "And I'm noticing things about him that I never realized before. I always thought George and Fred were so unbearably arrogant, but now I'm realizing that, under all the flash and charm, George is actually very kind and gentle and sensitive."

There was a short period of silence and Harry's mouth twisted into a contemplative sort of frown as he considered this. "Maybe–and I don't mean this to sound bad–" he began, "–but maybe you are only attracted to him the way he is now. You see that George is vulnerable and needs saving and so your instinct to be in control and to fix things and take care of people is kicking in. D'you think that could be why you're suddenly into him?"

Amazed and impressed though I was that that theory had come from the mind of an eighteen year old boy, I shook my head. "No," I said. "I mean, yes, what he's going through right now and the way he's dealing with it might be what opened my eyes, but–" I paused, picturing the way George looked every time I saw him now, distant and defeated, his rare smiles never quite reaching his eyes. "–I hate seeing him like this," I finished in a weak voice. "I don't want him to spend the rest of his life hurting. As insane as I know it must sound coming from me, I want him back the way he was. Pranks and cockiness and all."

"Wow," Harry said, a faint grin returning to his lips. "You really do fancy him then."

But I couldn't smile back because a painful lump was forming in my throat. "And now he's so angry with me that he kicked me out of his flat and wants nothing to do with me."

And with that, I was crying again.

The grin slipped from his Harry's face, his teasing expression replaced by a confused one. "Why is he angry with you?"

"Because he asked me to do something that I'm not comfortable with and I turned him down," I said, brushing more tears away.

Harry arched an eyebrow.

"Harry," I said with a huff that, much to my surprise, came out as a laugh. "_No_. He asked for my help with something." Harry, though clearly relieved by my laughter, still looked a little lost. "That big mistake he's about to make? He asked for my help," I explained.

"And it's not something you agree with," Harry guessed.

I shook my head. "It's a really bad idea and, even if it works, I don't think it will help him in the long run. But he's going to do it anyway and now he's just angry with me on top of it."

Annoyed with myself for my emotional outburst, I sniffed loudly, bringing my hand up and dabbing my running nose on the sleeve of my shirt.

"Well then," Harry said, glancing about the room and then suddenly dashing over to the coffee table where there sat a box of tissues that I'd completely forgotten about. "I guess the only thing to do is to wait and see what happens," he went on, now holding the box out to me. I took a tissue and did my best to dry off my wet, splotchy, red, drippy face. "And then, however it turns out, just be there for him when it's all over."

Harry gave me a soft smile which I returned with a sad one of my own, thinking to myself that I could do that, that I wanted to do that.

Only I wasn't sure that George wanted anything at all to do with me now.

* * *

**Author's Note:** As always, reviews are so loved and are figuratively hugged and squeezed! I'm always scared of sharing stuff with others because, let's be honest here, people on the internet are usually mean.

But not you guys! You always make it so much fun to post, so thanks for that! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Apologies that this took longer than I meant for it to. The weekend was packed with family things (an immediate family member is getting married in less than 3 weeks so things are getting busy!) and then Monday, the day I planned to write all day, I woke up exhausted with a killer sore throat and ended up sleeping on the couch most of the day instead. Tuesday morning involved the sore throat, a fever, a trip to the doctor, blood tests, and being told I have a virus. It's Wednesday now and I'm still laid up on the couch, pumped full of prescribed steroids.

Fortunately for us, even though I still feel pretty rotten, steroids make me a bit jittery which has enabled me to write this chapter in record time ;)

I hope you all enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Several days passed with absolutely no contact between George and myself. I passed the time curled up on my couch, finishing _Ministry Careers_ and making a lengthy list of my options with long columns of pro's and con's for each as I tried to keep my mind off of George.

I wanted so badly to check on him, but I was scared, afraid of going over there and finding him still angry with me, so I kept to myself. I could hear constant footsteps through our shared wall though, back and forth, back and forth, so I knew he was there and alive at least, and that was something.

In spite of the pang I felt every time I remembered George standing in his doorway, refusing to look at me as he asked me to leave, the comfort of knowing that he was safe was enough to let me rest easily and, on the third afternoon of our not speaking to each other, I fell into a comfortable doze on the sofa.

I slept deeply and soundly, which must have been why I didn't hear the footsteps leaving the flat next door, or their approach to my own door, or even the gentle knock that followed.

So when I felt something stirring near my chest and the slight opening of one sleepy eye revealed someone hovering over me, I jumped and shrieked, scrambling backwards until I hit the corner of the sofa and could go no further.

"It's me. It's me!" George was shouting over my shrieks, taking a step back and holding his hands up as proof that he wasn't there to hurt me. He was holding my copy of _Ministry Careers_ in one hand.

I held my hand to my chest, clutching at my pounding heart. "George!"

"It's just me," he reassured me again.

I took deep breaths, willing my heart to stop racing. "What are you doing!?" I sounded more angry than I had meant to, but, well, I was fairly certain that he'd almost just given me a heart attack.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, now giving me a sheepish little smile. "I knocked but you didn't answer. I came in to make sure you were alright and saw that you were asleep. I would've just walked right back out and I didn't mean to wake you but–" he paused, slowly lifting and then lowering _Ministry Careers_ as if weighing it, "–I wasn't sure how you could sleep with this massive thing across your chest. Seemed dangerous. Breathing's important, you know."

He turned to set the book down upon the coffee table behind him and when he turned back to face me, I realized that something about him looked different. He was wearing a blue button-up, the top two buttons undone and the sleeves shoved up to his elbows in a messy-casual way, but the shirt looked pressed and it was tucked neatly into his trousers.

He looked down at me, still wearing that cautious, remorseful little smile. And that smile wasn't the only thing that looked softer than usual; there was something else about his face. His chin and jawline so smooth and...

"You shaved," I accidentally said aloud in my surprise.

"What?" George said, looking a little caught off guard by my random observation. "Oh. Yeah." He reached up, rubbing a hand against his clean-shaven jaw. "I was starting to look a bit rugged there, wasn't I?"

"I barely noticed," I said, because I didn't want to admit–at least not any more than I just had–just how much attention I'd been paying to his face. Nor did I want him to think I'd disliked the scruff, because that certainly wasn't so. Still, something about seeing his face this way, a little softer and more boyish, just how I remembered it being in the weeks and months and years before everything that had happened to turn him into this shell of who he used to be... it was comforting.

"May I?" he asked now, gesturing towards the empty space on the other end of the couch.

"Yeah," I said, with a slight shake of my head as I tried to shake off my slightly confused and still sleepy thoughts. "Yes. Of course."

With a small smile of thanks, George lowered himself onto the sofa, turning his body so that he was facing me, and then he took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.

"I want to apologize," he said, and then he gave a short, embarrassed laugh and added, "Merlin, I hope this doesn't become a regular thing with us."

"What's that?" I asked, not quite following.

"This," George said, motioning between us. "Me saying or doing something stupid and then showing up at your door later to beg your forgiveness."

Though I kept my countenance cool, I felt a surge of hope go through me. "Is that what you're doing, then?"

George nodded. "I said some stupid things the other night." Suddenly dropping his gaze to look down at his hands instead he added, "Actually, I was a bit of an arse to you, to be quite honest."

"You're just hurting," I said softly. "It's understandable. And completely forgivable."

George looked back up at me, now wearing a tender and appreciative smile. "I know you've been trying to help me," he said. "I'm sorry for taking advantage of that and trying to make you do something you don't feel is right."

I shook my head gently, not needing the apology. "I just wish I could make this better for you," I told him. He continued to smile softly but he did not respond to this, and I could guess what he must be thinking: that there was nothing I could do for his pain and we both knew it.

"I'm sorry I didn't come over sooner," he said, redirecting the conversation. "I wanted to. I just wasn't sure what to say after the way I snapped at you."

"It's alright, George. I'm sorry for my part in it too. I shouldn't have gotten angry with you. I shouldn't have raised my voice."

"No!" George said, so loudly and so firmly that I raised my eyebrows at him. "No," he said again, more calmly this time. "Please don't apologize for that. You're the only person in my life who hasn't been handling me with gloves. It felt–" he paused, frowning, as he searched for the right word, "–not good, y'know, but it made me feel less pathetic, anyway."

"I don't think you're pathetic," I assured him, and he repaid me with another small smile.

"So does this mean we're alright now?"

I nodded. "We're alright, George."

"Good." He reached up, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "I dunno about you, but these last few days haven't been very enjoyable for me."

I gave a quiet laugh. "For me neither. I've hardly left this spot," I said, and then I blushed. It was the comforting sound of George's footsteps drifting in through our shared wall that had me unwilling to leave my flat for three days. I'd been scared that he might go off again, in search of the stone, or just in search of a distraction, and it was that thought that rendered me too afraid to leave.

Suddenly brought back to the present moment, the only thing I found myself fearing was whether or not George possessed any skill as a legilimens. I shifted my gaze away from him and forced myself to think of something else, just in case.

But once again, if George noticed my blushing, he paid it no mind.

"D'you want to get out for a bit then?" he asked. "We could go somewhere."

My gaze darted back up to meet his. "What? Really?" I said in surprise. "You would go somewhere with me?"

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "It really doesn't make a difference to me, whether I'm here or anywhere else." The sad way he said this made me frown, but this only made him force a smile onto his face in return. "Where would you like to go?"

"Well," I began, realizing that for someone who hadn't willingly left his flat in months for anything other than drinking or trouble seeking, this was something of a big deal. And I knew exactly where I wanted to go. I just didn't think George would ever agree to it. So I bit my lip and shook my head. "No. Never mind..."

"What?" George asked, sitting up straighter and looking at me more intently. "What is it? Where do you want to go?"

"Well," I said again, very slowly. "I was just thinking that it might be nice to go to the burrow." I saw a disappointed look flicker across George's face. "See," I said, my shoulders slumping. "I knew you wouldn't like it."

George shifted in his seat. "I just... I haven't been back since Fred's memorial," he mumbled uncomfortably.

"I know," I said, shaking my head at myself. "And maybe it was a stupid suggestion. I just know your mum would love to see you. And honestly? It's only going to get harder to go back, the longer you stay away."

George looked suddenly very interested in studying his knees, but he nodded slowly, considering what I was saying.

I opened my mouth to speak, ready to tell him that it was alright and that we didn't have to go to the burrow, or anywhere else for that matter, but before I could get a single word out, he spoke first, and much to my surprise he said, "...okay."

"Okay?" I repeated, just to make sure I'd heard him correctly, and he nodded.

"Yeah. If it's what you want."

Without taking my eyes off of him, I slowly rose to my feet and stood before him. And then I reached out and offered him my hand.

He glanced up at my outstretched hand, looking uncertain for a moment as he regarded it. But then his gaze traveled up the rest of my body, coming to rest on my face, and I saw his resolve crumble as he reached up and put his hand in mine. He got to his feet and stood beside me, our hands clasped together, and then with a loud _crack_, we disapparated from my flat.

A moment later, we found ourselves in a small field outside the burrow. The grass, taking on a slight tinge of gold as Autumn began its slow approach, was up to our knees and swaying in a soft breeze.

George was staring up at his childhood home, his gaze focused on the window of what had been the room he'd shared with Fred.

"George?" I asked, when he continued to stand there in silence, staring, seemingly frozen to the spot on which he stood.

"You know," he began, "I would say something about how it's like I'm expecting to see him looking out at me from that window. But that's not true. If I was down here, he would've been right beside me. That is always where I expect to see him. Beside me." George took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I still catch myself sometimes, speaking and turning to look at him, before I remember he's not there.."

Chest aching as I pictured that, I linked my arm through George's, pulling myself closer to him, and this finally drew his attention and his gaze back down to the ground.. to us.. to the moment.  
For just a second, I could've sworn I saw his sadness deepen as he looked at the place where my hand was resting in the bend of his elbow, and I was worried that I'd made him uncomfortable. But just as I was about to take a step back and to release my hold of him, he brought his other hand up, placing it on top of mine. He looked up at me then, making an effort to force his face into a kind smile, and then he sucked in a deep breath and took a step forward towards the burrow.

"George!" Mrs. Weasley screeched the moment she saw us come through the door. She pulled him into what appeared to be a bone-crushing hug and did not release him for several long moments. When she finally did, she pulled back just enough to hold him at arm's length as she looked him over. "Oh, my poor boy," she said, the tears in her eyes quite evident. "You're so thin. Sit down and let me make you a few sandwiches to hold you over until supper."

"Hermione, dear, would you come help me?" she asked, then calling, "we'll be right out with those sandwiches and some lemonade," to George, staring after him as he made his way to the kitchen table and got settled there.

Placing a hand under my elbow and steering me into a corner of the room, Mrs. Weasley inclined her head to me. "I don't know what you said to talk him into it," she whispered to me, "but thank you." She then wrapped me up in yet another motherly hug and when she pulled back, she was smiling a very watery smile. "Thank you."

Just a few minutes later, Mrs. Weasley and I had prepared a plateful of bacon sandwiches, sliced into little triangular halves, and a glass pitcher of fresh lemonade which we levitated to the kitchen table, placing the sandwiches directly before George.

"Eat up, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling down at her son who gave a weak smile back before reaching for a sandwich-half.

"Thanks, mum." He ate the sandwich-half slowly, with no trace of pleasure or enjoyment on his face, and when he had finished, he dusted the crumbs from his fingers and made no move to have another.

"Oh, George," Mrs. Weasley said, now looking rather crestfallen. "Don't you want more than that? You usually put away a dozen all on your own."

"I'm really not all that hungry, mum. I had a big lunch before we came over," he said smoothly, though I was certain that he was lying.

"George, you should really have another," I said, picking up half of a sandwich myself, bringing it towards my mouth and taking a bite. "They're delicious, aren't they?" I said around a mouthful of bacon and bread and using my thumb to wipe off the dollop of mayonnaise that had settled at the corner of my mouth. The corner of George's own mouth twitched, apparently entertained by the way I was relishing in my sandwich. I swallowed and pushed the plate even closer to George. "Have another," I said softly, giving him a meaningful, pleading look, because I wasn't sure when he'd last eaten.

He gave a light sigh but his expression softened and he relented, taking (and eating) several more.

The three of us made small talk for nearly an hour, munching bacon sandwiches and sipping our lemonade. (Though really it would be more accurate to say that Mrs. Weasley and I made the small talk, with George only piping in with polite nods, and speaking only whenever he was directly spoken to.)

And it wasn't long before the door opened again and other Weasleys began to file in. George got up to hug Ginny when she strolled in with Harry, whose hand he shook. And when Mr. Weasley arrived home from work, George hugged him as well, while Mrs. Weasley stood by, a hand pressed to her chest, still wearing that teary-eyed smile as she reveled in having George home again. I was watching George when he noticed her, and I saw the too-eager smile he forced onto his face for her, something that he continued to do throughout dinner whenever anyone addressed him, and anytime anyone gently asked how he is doing, he nodded and gave some variation of "I'm better" or "I'm fine, really" with that same, forced smile.

When George turned his attention from his father and whatever the two of them had just been discussing, he caught my eye and I frowned at him, knowing he was just putting on a show. But he ignored my frown, simply mustering up an even brighter smile for me, even though we both knew he was faking it.

After dinner, Mr. Weasley got up to help Mrs. Weasley clear the table while Ginny pulled George into a conversation about her upcoming final year at Hogwarts.

Harry, sitting in the chair beside me, turned in his seat to face me. "Can I speak to you for a second?" he said in a low voice, and I nodded, giving George a tiny I'll-be-right-back smile as I followed Harry out into the living-room.

The moment Harry and I were alone, I realized that something was missing. "Where is Ron?" I asked, noticing for the first time that he hadn't come home for the evening to have dinner. Ron never missed a meal.

"Oh, um," Harry said, looking a bit surprised, clearly not having expected to have this conversation, and now appearing a bit nervous at the prospect. "He's out having a drink with a girl from work, I think."

I raised an eyebrow. "A girl from work? Didn't you two start auror training just a few _days_ ago? And he's already met someone new?"

"Well, you know Ron," Harry said with a nervous shrug of his shoulders. "Always has been the type to fall for whomever is right in front of him, hasn't he? And with the two of you not currently speaking..." Harry trailed off, suddenly narrowing his eyes at me, confused. "You're not jealous are you?"

I pursed my lips, annoyed that he'd even asked. "No," I said, and it was the truth. Was it weird to think of Ron being out with someone else? Of course. Uncomfortable even? Perhaps. But, truth be told, I wasn't at all surprised to hear this. Nor was I really all that bothered by the thought. Ron deserved to be happy, and clearly that could not happen with me. And that–happiness with Ron–wasn't something I even wanted anymore, anyway...

"Good," Harry said, now drawing my gaze back to him because, without even realizing it, my gaze had drifted past his shoulder and into the kitchen to George who was still sitting at the table there, watching me. "So how are you doing?"

"I'm better," I said with an assertive nod.

Harry snorted. "Did you and George rehearse your answers before coming over?"

I gave his shoulder a half-hearted shove. "It's the truth."

"Yeah, you're not snotting on your sleeve this time," he noted with a teasing smile. "And I notice George doesn't seem to be angry with you anymore."

"No," I said with a small smile as I once again glanced over at George. "I suppose he isn't."

"So have you talked to him about it?"

Again my gaze was drawn back to Harry. "About what?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "About your _feelings_ for him?"

"_Harry_," I hissed, sneaking another glance at George. He was now talking to his dad and didn't appear to have heard us. "No, I haven't," I whispered. "And even if I wanted to, which I'm not sure I do, I don't think this would be a really good time for that, you know."

Harry frowned. "I know he's struggling. I know everything you've told me and I can see it myself now. But still," he said, fixing me in a very serious stare. "You won't know unless you talk to him about it. And I think you should. He's barely been able to keep his eyes off of you all night."

I groaned and looked away, wringing my hands. "Harry, don't tease me."

"I'm not teasing! I'm telling you, George can't stop looking at you."

"Yeah, well," I said, feeling the heat rising up in my cheeks. "If that's true, it's only because he's miserable and wants to leave." But then a much more horrifying thought struck me and my eyes went wide with panic. "Or have I got food on my face?" I flashed a large, toothy grin for Harry to examine. "Is 'ere sumfing in my teef?"

"Hermione," Harry said, now laughing. "You look perfectly fine."

My lungs deflated in relief.

"And I still really think you should talk to him about it." He gave me a final smile and a gentle pat to the shoulder before he turned and began making his way back to the kitchen to join the others.

I followed after him, but trailing very slowly so as to compose myself and to allow my cheeks to return to their normal peachy color, and I just happened to look up at the Weasley family clock as I passed it. It was just a quick glance at first, this time not desperately hoping to find out where anyone was, but then I did a double-take, stopping in my tracks. I peered around the doorframe and into the kitchen at George who was still sitting at the table, nodding politely at Harry who had just reentered the room, and then I looked back to the clock.

Even though George was sitting in the burrow, in his childhood home, at the dinner table surrounded by family and friends, George's hand still pointed to _Lost_.

xx

"I'm sorry," I said dejectedly to George when we got back to his flat that night. "I thought it would do you some good to see your family." I flopped down on his sofa, feeling beyond awful. "But you were just miserable the entire time."

"What? No–" George started to say, but I cut him off.

"Don't lie to make me feel better. You can force as many fake smiles as you want but I know you were miserable tonight." I gave an angry groan. Not angry with George, but with myself. "Every time I come up with an idea for something to make you feel better, it completely backfires and you end up feeling even worse than you did before."

"No," George said again, settling himself into the chair across from me. "It was fine. It was _good_," he added, emphasizing that last word when I didn't look convinced.

"Alright," I said, now eyeing him suspiciously. "What's going on, George? You've been acting odd all day."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Odd?"

"You're treating me differently."

"Am I?" he asked, and I nodded. "How? What am I doing?"

I frowned as I thought about how to answer. "I don't know," I said. "I can't quite put my finger on it. You're just being... gentler. Nicer."

George was now frowning too. "Have I not always been nice to you?"

"Yes, of course" I said, waving an impatient hand through the air because that wasn't what I had meant to imply. "But not like this. You've been agreeing with everything I say and do, and we both know that that has never been part of our usual _repartee_." My voice softened as I found myself feeling suddenly worried. "What's going on?"

But George just shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, Granger."

"George..."

He took a deep breath. "Alright," he said, now shooting me an apprehensive look. "Okay. I suppose I might have heard you talking to Harry the other night after our argument. I didn't mean to!" He added that last part quickly when he saw what must have been an unpleasantly shocked look on my face. "I was just coming over to apologize because I felt like such an arse for how I'd treated you. I had no idea Harry was even there until I was standing right outside your door and I swear I had no intention of listening in! But..."

My fingers were clutching the couch cushions so tight that my knuckles were white. "But?"

"Well, I heard my name. At which point I may or may not have pulled out an extendable ear and listened in."

"George!" I squeaked and George winced at the sound.

"I thought you might be asking him about the stone!" he said in his defense.

"But instead you heard..." I trailed off, prompting him to fill in the blanks because I wasn't going to admit to anything until I knew for certain just how much he knew.

"Mostly I heard you crying. Quite a lot," George said with a deep frown. "Felt like a kick in the gut to hear that and know it was my fault."

"And did you hear anything else?" My voice was still coming out squeaky and scared and my heart was pounding in my chest.

Unable to miss my extreme discomfort, George grimaced, looking unwilling to answer. "Yeah," he said at last, dragging the word out and watching me carefully. "I sort of heard Harry ask if you fancied me. And then I heard you say, _maybe_."

I groaned, bringing my knees up to my chest on the couch and promptly burying my face in them. If I'd thought the vaguely sexual conversation George and I'd had in my room above The Leaky Cauldron had been mortifying, well, this was something way worse.

"So," I began, speaking against my knees as I refused to look up, "when you said earlier that didn't come over sooner simply because you didn't know how to apologize, that was a lie. You'd shown up to apologize that very night. So what you really meant to say was that you didn't want to face me after hearing what I told Harry."

"_No_." George said firmly. "That's not it at all. I just didn't know how to respond. Because that's the thing, you weren't telling _me_, you were telling Harry. I didn't know if I was supposed to ignore it or confront you about it, or what I would even say if I did." He paused and the silence was painful in how loud and uncomfortable it was. "Hermione, look at me."

"No. No, I'd really rather not, thank you."

He sighed then and I heard the creak of the chair as he stood up. I heard his steps and felt him sit on the sofa beside me a second later, the cushions sagging slightly under his weight. "I'm so flattered," he started to say. "But–"

My head snapped back up at that. "Oh no," I said, adamantly shaking my head. "George, stop. I don't want to hear anymore."

"No, you don't understand–"

"I understand that nothing good ever follows a '_but_' in situations like this," I said, forcing a laugh that came out sounding borderline hysterical in my attempt to act like I _wasn't_ completely mortified.

"But if you'd just let me explain–" George tried again.

"There's no need for you to explain," I said, giving him a smile and cutting him off once more as I tried to spare myself the pain and embarrassment of having to hear whatever it was he was going to say to let me down gently. "Look," I continued, speaking quickly so that he couldn't get another word in. "You're taking it all too seriously anyway. It's no big deal, alright? I've been so confused about Ron, you and I have been spending all this time together, and I just started to feel like you needed me–"

"I _do_," George insisted at once, and the urgency in his voice cut _me_ off this time, silencing me and making me forget whatever other reason I was going to give him to excuse whatever it was that I was feeling for him. "I need you," he was saying now. "You've been so wonderful. Way better than I deserve after the ways I've tried to use you. First by asking you to spend the night with me, then trying to start something up after I promised you I wouldn't, and then the way I tried to force you into helping me find the stone."

I wanted to interrupt, to tell him that I didn't see it that way, that even if he had tried to use me for comfort or as a distraction or as way of bringing Fred back, he was still my friend and I'd never once felt _used_ by him. But George was speaking so quickly, his words so rushed, that I couldn't find it in me to stop him.

"The old me would have busted in the door, kicked The Boy Who Lived out of your living-room and snogged you into next week when I heard you admit to fancying me," he said, and nothing about his tone of voice or his expression or countenance indicated that he was joking. "The thought crossed my mind for a second as I stood there listening to you, to be quite honest, because I still–" he paused, taking a breath after so much quick speaking, but soon as he'd caught his breath, he was pressing on again, "I want that. What I started downstairs in the storage room, and the way I could feel and hear you responding to me. Bloody hell, Hermione." George's eyes flashed in a hungry sort of way as he looked at me now. "That's the best I've felt in months."

I could feel my face going pink. And more than that, I could feel the butterflies, flapping around inside my stomach in a way that suggested they were actually ginormous birds. "But that was just physical for you, wasn't it?" I asked, trying not to let those butterflies carry me too far away. "I'm a girl, we were close, you started kissing me and I seemed to enjoy it. So that's all it was, it was just.. just lust." My face had to be crimson now from all the blushing. "Right?"

George's hungry gaze had softened to a tender smile. "That wasn't exactly the first time I'd ever thought about doing something like that with you, Granger."

My stomach was doing absolute somersaults now. "It wasn't?" I asked shakily.

George shook his head. "Not by a long shot. You were off-limits because of Ron, of course, but that didn't keep me from imagining it sometimes," he said with a guilty little grin. "You're gorgeous. And feisty. And the older you got, especially when you started telling Fred and me off about our products at school, it got increasingly difficult to so much as glance in your direction without some sort of impure thought crossing my mind."

My mouth had gone rather dry. I'd always considered myself a very observant individual. How in Merlin's name had I missed _that_?

I was just about to ask him this, but the words died on the tip of my tongue as I watched George's demeanor change right before me.

"But," he began, and my stomach dropped. There was that awful word again. "But that was before." His voice was suddenly low and quivery, his eyes beginning to shimmer as they filled with tears. "The way I am right now? Hermione, I can barely get out of bed on most days. Unless, as you've pointed out yourself, it's to drink. I haven't worked in months. I can't smile for the customers, let alone actually invent any new products.

"I can't even produce a patronus anymore. That's why I didn't respond to yours the day you were looking for me. I tried, Hermione, I swear I did, but I couldn't produce a patronus because I can't for the life of me remember what it felt like to be truly happy. The happiest moments of my life were all with Fred and now it _kills_ me to remember them.

"I barely eat. I don't want to see my family. I don't want to pull pranks. I don't want to do _anything_ that I used to do because _everything_ reminds me that he's gone. I'm just–" George's voice cracked with emotion, "I'm an absolute wreck."

I blinked back the tears that were threatening to escape as I struggled to sound and look strong for George's sake. "You're just grieving," I said.

But George shook his head. "It's more than that. There's a gaping hole in my heart." He brought his hand up, using a finger to roughly jab himself in the chest over the place where his heart was beating. "And it _hurts_. Every second that I'm awake, it hurts."

"George," I whispered as I reached for him.

But George was shaking his head, tears steadily falling now. "I hear him all the time, Hermione."

I stared at him for a moment, not certain I'd heard him correctly. "You hear who?" I asked, trying but failing to hide the scared tremor in my voice, and when he gave me a crooked, watery-eyed smile, my fears were confirmed. "Fred?" I breathed. "You hear Fred?"

"All the time," he whispered back. "It's why I force myself to go to The Leaky Cauldron for a drink some nights rather than drinking here alone. Because anytime I sit in silence for too long, I start to hear him."

"You mean you remember his voice, right?" I asked carefully. "You remember things you've heard him say to you in the past. Right?"

"No," George said, his voice thick as he struggled to get the word out. "I hear him talking to me just like I hear you talking to me right now. I first heard him that night, swearing that he'd kick my arse if I killed myself. But it didn't end there. I hear him telling me to stop being stupid when I'm out alone getting drunk. Or telling me it's alright and that he loves me when I'm crying. If I were to shut up long enough, I would probably hear him saying exactly that right now."

I had no idea what to say to that. To dream that Fred was telling George not to kill himself on his darkest night was one thing. To constantly hear Fred's voice in his head, to hear Fred speaking to him and telling him things as if he wasn't gone, that was another thing entirely. And it scared me. Not that I was scared of George. Just scared _for_ him.

"Do you see now?" George asked after studying the expression on my face. "I'm broken. And I am so sorry if it was my repeated attempts at using you that made you think you felt something for me."

"George," I said sadly, once again wanting to interrupt and tell him that it wasn't like that at all, but he didn't give me the chance.

"I will lean on you in that way if you let me," he said, reaching out to gently finger a curl near my ear. "If you were to throw yourself at me right now, I would let you. But it wouldn't be fair to you. Not like this. Not when I can't give you everything that you deserve." He let go of the strand of hair, moving to run his thumb across my cheekbone in slow, affectionate strokes. "I'm afraid there's no fixing me, Granger."

On instinct, I turned my face, craving more of his touch, and when he responded by cupping his hand against my cheek, I snuggled into it. But I didn't speak. I didn't know what words to say, or if there were even any words at all for this situation and what I was feeling.

George was watching me closely and, seeing the way I nuzzled his palm, a pained expression flitted across his face. And though it looked difficult for him to do, he slowly dropped his hand, letting it fall limp into his lap. "I know you don't agree with what I'm doing, and I won't ask you to help me. But I don't know how to live in a world where Fred doesn't exist, Hermione." He took a deep breath and let it out, sad but determined all the same. "I am going to find that stone."

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**Author's Note**: If you feel like taking pity on this sick girl who is currently curled up on the sofa with a cup tea and feeling pretty crummy, please feel free to leave a review :)

I love reading them and I'm now convinced that we have the funniest, kindest, all around BEST fandom of all the fandoms. Seriously, thanks for all the kind reviews. You are all so awesome.

Also.. I have a new outline in the works for a new post-DH Twin/Hermione story that I will start posting as soon as this one is complete. HOORAY for me having a new idea and not taking another four year break between posting fics :P If you want to be alerted when new stories go up, be sure to follow me or add me to your favorites, or whatever it is you have to do to get the notifications when I post new things :)

Thanks so much for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: **Thank you all so much for the lovely, sweet, and hilarious reviews, and for the kind words hoping that I feel better soon :)

To the guest who was pulled out of the story by my failure to capitalize The Burrow, I am sorry and will try to be mindful of that from here on out :)

To Tori who REALLY hates cliffhangers.. I'm sorry? haha. Since there was nothing else to your review, I am not sure if you meant it as an "oh, this is killing me, I need to know what happens!" sort of thing or if you were seriously angry about it. Personally, I feel it's important to end each chapter with a mini cliffhanger when possible. It's what makes us want to keep turning the pages ;) I will try to take your review as a compliment (because why would we want to read anything that _didn't_ leave us anxious for more?) and just hope that that's the way you meant it :) Thanks for taking the time to review!

(Edit: I don't know what the deal is - I uploaded this chapter nearly 30 minutes ago and it sent out the email alert. I can see a lot of you have tried to view it but chapter eight still isn't showing up. Removing and reposting it in the hopes it'll work this time..)

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**Chapter Eight**

I found Harry asleep inside his bedroom in Grimmauld Place, his wand and his glasses lying discarded on the bedside table, the small lamp beside them still on, casting a dim glow over the room as he dozed. It was nice to see him resting, considering he hadn't really had the chance to do much of that over the past few years, always worried that something terrible would happen to someone he cared about while he was asleep, or that his dreams would be invaded by Voldemort. It pained me to wake him... but I needed his help. He could sleep later.

"Harry," I whispered, hoping not to startle him. It didn't work. Harry jerked awake, his hand immediately reaching for his wand which he gripped tightly and fixed on me, angry red sparks issuing threateningly from the tip.

Alright, so maybe he was still–and perhaps might always be–a bit on edge...

"It's just me!" I said, taking a step back.

Harry squinted in my direction and then let out a breath, lowering his wand. "Blimey, Hermione, don't sneak up on me while I'm sleeping."

"I wasn't sneaking," I protested.

He reached for his glasses and put them on, positioning them on his face before pushing himself up on his elbows to better look at me. "What would you call creeping around uninvited in my house, then?" he asked, his words accusing, though he was now grinning. "What are you doing here? What time is it?"

"It's late," I said, moving to sit on the end of his bed near his feet. "And I'm here because I need your help with something."

"And it couldn't wait until morning?" Harry asked through a yawn.

I shook my head. "No. I don't think it can."

Seeing the serious look on my face, Harry's expression darkened. "What's wrong? Is it George again?"

"No," I said, but then shook my head at myself because that wasn't entirely true. "Well, yes. It does involve George. He's not in any trouble or anything though," I added when Harry continued to look concerned. "Not yet, anyway."

"Not yet?" Harry repeated. "What does that mean? And what's it got to do with me? What do you need my help with?"

"Well," I began slowly, knowing that my request would require a bit of delicate tact if I was going to convince Harry to assist me. "You remember me telling you that George asked me to help him with something?"

"Yeah," Harry said, dragging the word out and up at the end like a question. "I also remember you saying it was something you weren't comfortable with." Eyeing me and the nervous way in which I was chewing my bottom lip he added, "but I take it you've changed your mind."

"Not exactly," I admitted. "I still don't agree with what he's doing."

"But?"

"But he's going to do it anyway and I can't let him go alone."

"Go?" Harry asked, raising both eyebrows. "Where is George going?"

"Well, you see, I'm not sure, exactly. But that's where you come in."

"Hermione," he said, now narrowing his eyes at me. "You're making my head hurt. Would you just spit it out?"

I sighed. "The stone, Harry. George knows about the resurrection stone."

"_What_? How?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. He said he heard some dark wizards whispering about it in Knockturn Alley the other night."

Harry sat in silence for a moment as this new bit of information sank in. "Well, this isn't good," he said at last.

"No," I agreed. "It isn't."

"Did George know who it was? Did he recognize them?"

"I don't know. He didn't say. But that is who he was fighting that night. That's how his wound got reopened. They caught him listening in."

Harry was frowning deeply now. "So this is the thing George asked you to help him with. He wants the stone?"

"To say he wants it would be putting it mildly," I said with a frown of my own. "He's pretty determined to have it."  
"To bring Fred back," Harry said. I gave a sad little nod and he sighed. "But Dumbledore always told me–"

"–You can't bring people back from the dead. I know."

"When I saw my parents.. Sirius.. Lupin.." Harry began, speaking quietly as he recalled the memory. "They were really there. They were talking to me. And they were more than ghosts. But they still weren't quite alive either."

"I know," I said again. "And I've tried to tell George that but he won't hear it. All he knows is how much he's hurting, how much he's missing Fred, and now he thinks he has a chance to be with him again."

"And you've decided to help him," Harry said with a weary sigh.

"Harry, I told you," I said gently. "I don't like this either. But he's made it clear that he's going to do this with or without my help. And I just–" I paused, drawing in and then forcing out a deep, steadying breath. "I can't let him go alone."

Harry was studying me, frown still in place, but his voice sounded sympathetic when he spoke again. "You really care about him, don't you?"

"Yes," I said. "I do." And then I tilted my face down to stare at my hands which fiddled nervously in my lap. "George knows it too," I said sadly. "He overheard us talking the other night. He heard me admit to possibly having feelings for him."

Harry was now wearing a dry (but obviously pleased) smile. "I see you followed my advice and decided to talk to him about it?"

"I didn't really have a choice," I said, shaking my head slightly. "He'd been acting strange around me all day, agreeing to everything I suggested. And there was this moment earlier–" I said, pausing for just a second as I remembered George and I standing in the field outside of The Burrow, "–I wrapped my arm through his and he looked down at me with this sad little smile that I didn't understand at the time." I realized then that I was picking at a loose thread on Harry's blanket and, with a frustrated groan, forced myself to stop. "Turns out he knew about my feelings and was just trying to be extra nice and gentle with me because he pities me."

"C'mon," Harry said, trying to sound reassuring. "I seriously doubt George pities you."

I rolled my eyes, annoyed as I felt them beginning to water. "That's not how it felt tonight when he told me how flattered he is, but that he can't be with me and he's sorry if he lead me on."

Harry winced in sympathy of my heartache. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

I shrugged like it didn't matter. But it did. The fact that my eyes were going blurry with tears made it clear that it really, really mattered. "It was a silly idea anyway, wasn't it?" I asked, forcing a small laugh as I reached up and brushed tears away. "Me with George Weasley?"

Harry reached up and placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. "I dunno. I mean, it surprised me at first, you know, but then I saw the way he was looking at you tonight. Didn't seem so silly then."

"Oh, well," I said, trying to sound strong and determined in spite of my sniffling. "I suppose it doesn't matter now."

"Hermione," Harry began. He was watching me closely. "You haven't decided to help George find the stone just in the hopes that he'll change his mind and want to be with you, have you?"

I shook my head, frowning. "I think I'd already decided to help him, before he and I had our little talk."

Harry looked surprised to hear this. And considering how upset I'd been the other night and how adamantly I'd seemed to condemn George's decision, I couldn't really blame him. "So what changed your mind?" he asked.

Blinking away the few remaining tears, I composed myself and looked up at Harry. "When we were at The Burrow earlier tonight," I began, keeping my voice calm and steady, "I saw George's hand on the clock again. He was sitting right there at the table, forcing smiles for his family, but his hand on the clock was still pointing to _Lost_. I've seen how much George is hurting, but I think that's the first time it really hit me." I gave another sad sigh. "George is lost without Fred. Whatever he feels or doesn't feel about me, I just want to help him."

"You do know this isn't really a good idea, don't you?" Harry asked gently.

I nodded. "I do. But how many times did I go against my better judgement to help _you_?" I said with a small smile. "And I would do it all over again because you're my friend and you needed me. George needs me now."

Running a hand over his face, Harry took a deep breath. "The acromantula nest."

I blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"That's where I dropped the stone," he said simply. "I was near the acromantula nest. I don't remember _where_ exactly, whether I was to the east or west or north or south of it. I went into the forest from the direction of Hagrid's hut but I can't remember my exact path from there. Sorry," he added, seeing my slight frown.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "It's alright. You had a lot on your mind at the moment, I'm sure."

"Yeah," he said with a grim smile. "Knowing you're about to die tends to make it difficult to focus on anything else." There was a short pause between us as Harry and I sat in thoughtful silence. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked suddenly. "The stone is small; it's not going to be easy finding it."

I gave Harry a small, grateful smile. "Thank you," I said. "But no. I think this might be something George wants to do on his own."

Harry grinned. "On his own with _you_, you mean."

"It's not as if he actually asked me to go off on the search with him," I said, but I blushed all the same. "I'm just not giving him a choice in the matter. If he wants to do this, he's going to take me with him."

"Yeah, well," Harry said. "I'm only letting you go on one condition."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "And what is that?"

"You send for me if you get in any trouble."

I playfully rolled my eyes at this, at him playing the role of the overprotective brother. "Harry..."

"I mean it, Hermione."

"Alright," I said, conceding. "If I need anything, I will send for you. I promise."

Harry smiled, satisfied. "Good," he said. But then he sat up suddenly, throwing the covers back and jumping up from his bed. "Wait. There's one more condition," he said, and I was left sitting there on the foot of his bed, arms crossed over my chest, eyeing him as he walked away and crossed the room. He stooped down, rummaging through his old school trunk that sat on the floor beneath the window. When he stood up and turned back around, he was holding his invisibility cloak. "I want you to take this."

"Harry, I can't."

"You can and you will." He walked back across the room to me and gently pushed the cloak into my hands. "Here. Just in case."

"Are you sure about this?" I asked quietly, voicing my hesitation and uncertainty, not just about accepting the cloak, but all of it. I wanted to know that I had my best friend's support.

"No," Harry said honestly with a nervous laugh, and even though it wasn't the answer I'd hoped for, the bluntness of it made me smile. "But like you said, you've done loads of mental things to help me, and that all turned out relatively okay in the end, didn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose," I said, now sounding somewhat amused.

"And besides, now that we know other wizards are going to be out there looking for the stone, it's better that you and George find it first, don't you think?"

I nodded, swallowing hard, no longer feeling amused. An encounter with a group of dark wizards also looking to find the legendary stone seemed to be a very real possibility, and one that I was hoping against hope to avoid.

"Just be careful," Harry said, drawing me from my anxious thoughts as he once again reached out to squeeze my shoulder.

I nodded and then threw my arms around him for a quick hug. "Thanks, Harry," I whispered, and then pulled myself away from the comfortable embrace before my fear had a chance to really grip me. I flashed my friend what I hoped looked like a confident smile. "I'll see you soon."

**xx**

When I got back from visiting Harry, I went straight to the door of George's flat. I knocked and he appeared just a minute later, looking to still be quite awake in spite of the late hour.

Without waiting for him to invite me in, I pushed my way inside, ducking my head to walk right under his arm which was stretched out in the small space between where he stood in the open door and the doorframe. Once inside his living-room, I turned back to face him. He was still standing in the doorway, now staring at me with both eyebrows raised in a questioning manner as he waited for me to explain myself.

"The stone is in The Forbidden Forest," I told him in a very matter-of-fact tone. "And I'm going to do whatever I can to help you find it."

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**Author's Note**: I'm sorry if some of you are disappointed that this was a very Hermione/Harry-centric chapter. (I know I missed George and I'm the one who wrote it!) But now that Hermione has sought out Harry's help so that she can in-turn help George, I think Harry's time in this particular fic has drawn to a close. So we can now say a fond farewell to him and focus more on our lovely George ;) (I'm really excited to start my new Twin/Hermione fic, by the way. I usually write from Hermione's point of view but I have the urge to switch it up and tell a story from George's POV instead. It's going to be fun! Because as much as I adore Miss Granger, it is nothing compared to my love for the twins!)

And sorry this update is a teensy bit shorter than usual, but.. well.. sometimes chapters are short, I suppose :)

I'm also really sorry if anything about this chapter feels clunky or sloppy or off or if I've missed any mistakes. I'm doing everything I can to kick this virus but I'm still very much under the weather and have only been able to write in short, medicated bursts. Apologies if the quality of my writing has suffered because of it. Hopefully I'll be back to myself and have some energy and focus again soon :)

The next chapter is almost entirely outlined already so I'll get that fleshed out and posted in the coming days so as not to keep you waiting too long. I know it can be frustrating, reading along with a story that is in-progress, forced to wait until the author can get around to updating. So I'll try to hurry as best as I can. Thanks for hanging in there with me :)

I hope you're all well and have had a good weekend. Thanks again for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note**: I'm finally well! Fever-free and off all medicine and finally able to concentrate again. Woo hoo! Thanks again for all the well wishes :)

And of course, thanks as always for the beautiful, lovely, huggable reviews. They mean so much and they push me to keep writing even when I don't want to!

(Again to Tori - Haha, thank you so much for reviewing again and clarifying! I always private message to respond to reviews of people who are signed in with an account so, since I couldn't do that with you, I addressed you here because I wanted to make sure you weren't genuinely upset! Haha. Thanks so much for the second review and for all your kind words. It is so greatly appreciated :))

As always, thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoy!

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**Chapter Nine**

George didn't speak for a long while, and when he finally did, my name was all he managed to get out. "Hermione," he said, but even that trailed off into silent nothingness. He shook his head as he stared at me, the action so subtle that it was barely perceivable. George was clearly at a loss for words.

"When I left your flat earlier tonight and went back to mine–" I began, because I could see that he needed some help in getting this conversation going, "–I couldn't sleep. I just couldn't stop thinking." I paused, taking a breath. "I want to help you if I can."

George just blinked at me, trying to take in what I was saying. "You do?" he asked at last. "Are you sure?" And his voice sounded so small. Like he was scared to let himself hope.

I nodded. "I'm sure, George," I said, and then in a gentle voice I added, "I still don't agree, mind you. I can't pretend that I'm really okay with it or that I think it's wise." I paused then, finding myself both unnerved and touched by the way in which George was watching me, so intensely, hanging onto every single word that I spoke, and he had this overwhelmingly vulnerable look on his face as he waited for me to finish. "But I don't want you out there on your own," I admitted in what I hoped was a strong voice, holding my chin up even though what I really wanted to do was to shyly gaze down at the floor under the intensity of George's stare. "If you're going to do this, you're taking me with you."

There wasn't time to be shy or nervous or to over-think things before George had crossed the room and scooped me up in his arms, sweeping me quite literally off my feet as he picked me up and pulled me into the tightest, most crushing hug I'd ever received.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice strained with emotion. And then he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Thank you. Thank you."

"It's alright, George," I said, struggling to speak with my face pressed so snuggly against his shoulder, and trying not to feel too giddy or to take too much notice of the sudden warmth in my cheeks. "You may not want to thank me yet. I don't know that it'll work. I can't guarantee we'll even find it."

He squeezed me tighter. "It will," he said, and he sounded so certain of it. "We will. _I know it_."

At last, George set me back on my feet and when he pulled back to look at me, I saw that his eyes shone with a light that I hadn't seen in them since before he'd lost Fred. George looked like he was alive again, rather than merely existing.

I gave him a gentle smile, more to humor him than anything, really. I couldn't help but worry that he was setting himself up for more heartbreak and that I was enabling it.

"At least we have an idea of where to start looking," I said softly, and George nodded.

"So it's in The Forbidden Forest?"

"Yes. Harry says he dropped it somewhere near the acromantula nest. But I'm afraid that's all we've got to go on."

"Hey, it's a start," he said, an unmistakable note of eagerness to his words. "So how soon can we leave? I could be packed in five minutes."

"Tonight?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise. "You want to leave tonight? Right now?"

"Well, yeah," he said, reaching up to nervously rub the back of his neck. "Don't you? Hermione, those wizards in Knockturn Alley knew about the stone too. We aren't the only ones looking for it."

My lips set in a determined, straight line, I gave a single nod. "You're right," I said. "We should leave as soon as possible." The middle of the night seemed an unconventional time to start out on our trip but, I also knew that the sooner we left, the better our chances of finding the stone, and of finding it before any dark wizards figured out where it was. "There's no telling how long this might take. We'll likely need our supplies to last us for longer than just a couple of days..."

George was nodding agreeably. "Sure. Anything," he said. "However long it takes."

"Alright, then," I said, already making a list in my head of everything we might need. "You start packing. I'll run to my flat and grab a few things, and then I'll be back here in just a bit."

"Yeah, okay," he said, already heading trough the living-room and towards the hallway.

"George?" I called after him, and I waited for him to look at me before I continued. "No fire-whiskey. Okay? If we're going to do this, we need clear heads."

George's expression was serious as he thought about this. He nodded. "No fire-whiskey. Promise."

I gave him a small smile and then left him to pack as I retreated to my own flat to do the same. I packed a tent, the one that Bill had loaned to Harry, Ron and myself after we'd been forced to abandon the other. We'd intended to use it after leaving Shell Cottage but ended up not having a need for it as we'd found ourselves back at Hogwarts so soon after. Then the war was over and with all the cleanup and the healing and the funerals and everyone just trying to put their lives back together, I'd simply forgotten to return it to Bill, something I now found myself very grateful for.

I packed plenty of clothes and food and a few simple healing potions and any books that I thought might come in handy, of course, and when all of that was stored neatly away into the seemingly bottomless confines of my charmed handbag, I headed back to George's flat.

I found him in his room–the one that had been so tidy the day I'd searched the flat looking for him, and it still remained as such, with the bed still neatly made, the entire room looking very much un-lived in. He was stuffing a pile of clothes into a small bag when I walked in.

"All set here," he said, looking up at me as he zipped the bag. "I packed a few antidotal potions and some blood-replenishing nougats. And some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. You know, just in case."

I nodded. "Good. I packed a few potions as well. And a tent. And what I think should be enough food for at least a week. If we run out, we can always make a quick run into Hogsmeade."

"Right, then," George said, clapping his hands once and rubbing them together.

I smiled uneasily. "Right. I suppose we're ready to be off."

"Shall we apparate?"

"Hmm," I hummed, my uneasy smile slipping into a frown. "I'm not so sure that would be the best idea. You really have to have a clear image of where you're going and I'm not sure I know those woods well enough to do that." I tried to remember the last time I'd even been in The Forbidden Forest; it had been years. "I can picture the school grounds, of course, but I don't know how far out the anti-apparition wards extend beyond the Hogwarts grounds. And I would be afraid to test it."

"Yeah, I don't reckon I fancy the idea of being splinched," George said with a slight grimace. "I used to know the woods really well–Fred and I snuck out there all the time–but that was years ago. I'm not sure I could picture it clearly either."

"I don't suppose we could get ourselves a portkey authorized at this time of night, or explain to the Ministry why we want to travel to The Forbidden Forest, so that's out of the question..." I cocked my head to one side, my lips pursed together as I thought.

"We could fly," George suggested, and now it was I who grimaced.

"Oh, George, I don't know."

"I know you're scared of flying–"

"I'm not scared!" I insisted, a little too strongly. I crossed my arms over my chest and forced my shoulders to relax. "I just don't enjoy it," I said, more casually this time.

George just smirked. "Well I suppose we could take The Knight Bus."

"_No_." I'd ridden The Knight Bus once before and once had been enough.

"Look, Granger," George said, and there was now an amused little twinkle in his eye. "It'll be a long flight but it's not sounding like we have many other options. You can ride on my broom with me. I'm a good flyer." When I continued to look hesitant he laughed. "Do you really think I would drop you?"

"Not on purpose."

"Not _at all_," George corrected. "Haven't you seen me on my broom?" he asked, grinning.

"Yes, of course I have–"

His grin widened. "Then you know how good I am."

I narrowed my eyes at him, despite the fact that what he said was true. "Somehow your arrogance doesn't make me feel any less nervous," I said with a roll of my eyes, and George's expression softened at my admitting that I was afraid.

"I'll fly as low as we can risk it without being seen by Muggles," he said gently. "And I'll go as slow as you tell me to."

Realizing we really didn't have any other choice aside from being tossed nauseatingly about by The Knight Bus, I sighed. "Alright. Fine. Where's your broom?"

**xx**

George led the way through the flat, down the stairs of the shop, and out into the small alleyway behind it. There was a door on the back of the building there, and this George unlocked and opened, revealing what appeared to be a small storage room. Inside there hung a couple of dirty traveling cloaks and a pair of muddy boots sat on the floor. Fred and George's old beater bats were leaning together against a wall in the corner.

"You know," George said, disappearing momentarily behind a stack of boxes as I lingered in the doorway, "I actually have a two-seater broom."

Imagining that a two-seater broom must be something akin to a two-seater muggle bicycle, silly things I'd only ever seen ridden by tourists or sickeningly soppy couples, I giggled. "Why do you have a two-seater broom?"

"Well, Miss Granger," George said in a dry tone, clearly picking up on my mocking one. "Once upon a time, I actually had something of a love life, believe it or not. I know _you_ would rather do anything than get on a broom with me, but some witches actually _enjoy_ me taking them out for late-night rides. Gotten myself quite a few kisses on this thing, actually."

The laugh died on my lips at that image and a little ache went straight through my chest and to my heart. "Oh."

George reappeared from behind the boxes at that moment, carrying a two-seater broom over his right shoulder, but then he saw the look on my face and he came to a sudden stop. He winced. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"What?" I forced a breathy laugh. "Why? Sorry for what?"

"I didn't mean to make you jealous." He shook his head at himself. "It was a stupid thing for me to say. I wasn't thinking."

There George went feeling sorry for me again, being careful with me because I had feelings for him. Feelings he didn't return.

George was looking at me with these big sad eyes that were currently full of pity for me, and I pointedly turned my gaze away from him, wishing he would stop.

"We should get going," I said.

I could feel his stare for a moment longer, but then he relented. "Yeah. Okay." And then I turned and headed back out into the alley, waiting for George to lock the door of the small room before he joined me.  
Lowering the broom from his shoulder, he held it down in front of him and let it hover in the air as he put one leg over and positioned himself on the back seat.

"C'mon, Granger," he said gently, taking care to hold the broom extra steady as he waited for me to climb on.

I took a deep breath and then did as he asked, using both hands to steady myself with the broom handle as I clambered on and perched rigidly onto the seat in front of George.

I didn't like it.

There was nothing keeping me on the broom except my own efforts, the grip of my hands, my feet in the stirrups, the strength of my own arms clinging for dear life. And this was all well and good enough while we were still hovering in the alley, with George's feet still flat on the stone ground. But we were soon going to be much, much higher. I swallowed.

"I don't like this," I said, my voice shaking.

I heard George chuckle. "Here," he said. "Dismount." And I did as I was told, all too happy to climb down and feel the firm ground beneath my feet again. George scooted back on his own seat and then, while looking at me, patted the minuscule amount of leather seat now showing between his legs. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't give me that look, young lady," he said with an amused laugh as he caught sight of the way in which I was staring at him. "You'll feel safer this way, I swear."

I eyed him with a bit of distrust, wondering with yet another ache if he did this with all the witches he let ride on his broom, but I forced that thought to the back of my mind and approached the broom anyway, this time positioning myself on his seat with him.

"You can still put your feet in the holders for the front seat to be more comfortable," he said as I got myself settled, and I did as he suggested. "But this way I'm right here," he went on, and then to prove his point, he leaned forward slightly, pressing his chest into my back, and his arms came around to grip the broom handle. "Better?"

I shifted slightly, only to feel George all around me. His chest molded to fit against my back, his toned arms–much stronger than my own–reaching around my sides, his hands placed securely on the handle in front of me, everything about him keeping me in place. Protecting me.

I smiled with relief, feeling myself relax considerably. "Yes, actually."

I could hear the smile in George's own voice as he said, "Good." And then he removed one of his hands from the broom and brought it up to my neck, gathering the mass of bushy curls there and pulling them back and around to my other shoulder. His fingertips accidentally brushed the newly exposed skin on my neck and I shivered at the touch.

"My, my," George tutted, a gently wicked humor evident in his voice. "What was that, Miss Granger?"

I stiffened at the realization that George had noticed my body's traitorous reaction to his touch. I tried to play it off as nothing. "What was what?"

"That little shiver," he said, and though he spoke gently, his mouth suddenly very close to my ear, I could hear that he was still smiling. "You went all shivery when I accidentally touched your ear that day down in the shop too." He gave a soft chuckle. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say we've discovered a couple of your erogenous zones."

"George," I hissed, both because he'd embarrassed me and because he'd chosen that very moment to push off from the ground without warning, causing a dropping sensation in my stomach, though I couldn't quite figure out if it was caused by our sudden take-off or by the current topic of conversation.

"I was only trying to get your hair out of my face so I can see to fly, of course," he said, his voice very light and teasing. "But still, very useful information to have."

I reached up and secured my hair over my left shoulder to keep it out of his way, and then I sighed. "Why are you doing this?"

George gently tugged on the broom handle, guiding us up until we were just high enough to clear the buildings as we began our flight out of Diagon Alley. "Doing what?"

"Toying with me," I said softly, closing my eyes so I wouldn't have to watch the lights passing under our feet. "You hit on me, kiss on me when I was just trying to hug you, but then I realize I might actually feel something for you and you tell me you don't feel anything back."

"That's not what I said," he interrupted, suddenly wrapping himself tighter around me, attempting to shield me as best he could as we passed through a low-lying cloud. The sudden feel of the cool mist on my face made me gasp and my eyes popped back open. "I said I can't. Not that I don't."

I rolled my eyes. "That's the same thing, George."

"No," he said, making a quick but graceful turn to the right to avoid an owl. "It really isn't. And it's certainly not my intention to toy with you. I'm sorry if I made you feel that's what I'm doing."

"What _are_ you doing if not toying with me?"

"I.." George began slowly, making it clear that he himself didn't entirely know. "I dunno. I'm just flirting. S'what I do, isn't it? Fred and I have always been flirty blokes, haven't we? I don't always even mean to do it. It just sort of happens."

That was not the answer I was looking for. "So that's all this is?" I asked, a slight snappishness to my words. "Any random girl could be sitting here with you like this and you'd be leaning into her and speaking softly into her ear and suggestively teasing her about her.. _zones_?"

George just laughed. "But I'm not with just any random girl, am I? I'm sitting here with you."

"That's not the point."

"Mind telling me what your point is, then?"

I huffed. "My point is that by saying you don't even mean to flirt and that it _just sort of happens_, you're implying that you would be perfectly happy carrying on like this with anyone else. I just happen to be the lucky one who finds herself with you at the moment," I said dryly, recalling how George himself had something very similar all those mornings ago at The Leaky Cauldron. He'd said that he hadn't been thinking when he asked me to stay the night with him, that he was hurting and I just happened to be there.

"Hermione," George said, interrupting my thoughts, and I could hear that he was frowning now.

To be honest, I didn't know quite where this anger was coming from, except that I was frustrated and a bit embarrassed by George's continued suggestive comments after he'd made it clear that he couldn't return my feelings.

And perhaps I was still dwelling on his comment about the other witches who loved riding with him. Now finding myself on his broom, with George so close to me that I couldn't think straight, his arms wrapped around me and his hands between my knees as he gripped the handle and steered us, I understood why they loved it. And it made something angry and unpleasant flare up inside me as I imagined some faceless girl in my place, her long hair fanning out behind her in the wind, George leaning close and flirting with her in that obnoxiously charming voice of his, her vapid giggles as one of his hands found its way onto her leg...

Forgetting my fear of flying, I let go of the handle and brought my arms up to cross them over my chest. "You said you wouldn't stop me if I threw myself at you. What if another girl did that? I suppose that means you would let her have you as well, regardless of whatever this is that's been going on between us. Because you're willing to do whatever to stop hurting and _it just happens_, right?"

"Hey," George said, now sounding hurt and maybe even a little bit angry. "Don't go putting words in my mouth."

"Those were your words!"

"Yeah, well you're taking them out of context!"

The cool mist of the cloud had mostly dried from my skin but it had left me feeling chilled, especially with the constant wind in my face. So in spite of my anger, I scooted back, seeking George's warmth even as I grumbled under my breath.

"Merlin, Granger," George said, and he still sounded rather angry himself. But that didn't stop him from letting one hand leave the broom handle so that he could wrap it around my waist and assist me in moving myself closer in to him. "It's bloody weird having you go all jealous at the _entirely hypothetical_ thought of me with another girl, you know."

I rolled my eyes but offered no other response.

And suddenly George chuckled. "Bit funny though, innit?"

"No," I said, the word short and clipped. "Not really."

"Ah, c'mon," George said, gently nudging my shoulder with his own. "Doesn't it feel like just yesterday that you were that annoyingly perfect little Prefect and I was the dashingly handsome young trouble-maker making sure you had your work cut out for you?" He sighed an overly-dramatic sigh of nostalgia. "And now here we are, you and me, alone in the middle of the night on my broom, sitting together like this–" he leaned forward, resting his chin gently on my shoulder to emphasize our proximity, "–and the thought of me with another girl is driving you completely mental."

"Yes, well how would you like it?" I snapped back. George might have been in the mood to tease again but I, however, was not quite ready to make peace. "Do you really want the image in your head of me kissing your little brother? Or would that not bother you, since all we're doing is flirting?" I turned my head to face him, flashing a fake smile and clapping my hands together the way an excited school-girl might do with her girl friends. "I know! Would you like to hear about my first kiss with Viktor? You think he's impressive on the quidditch pitch..." I trailed off suggestively, my eyes flashing with a wickedness to rival that of a Weasley Twin's. "You've no idea the things that boy could do with his tongue."

"Oi," George growled. "Now you're just being mean."

I stared him down, enjoying the way the tables had turned. "I thought you said it was funny?"

George scoffed. "Yeah, well, it was until you made me picture Viktor Krum's tongue in your mouth," he said, staring at me with a dark look in his eyes.

I smirked. George was jealous and that made the playing field feel much more even.

"What?" George asked, still sounding sulky as he questioned the sudden smile I wore.

I shook my head and turned my face back to stare out at the sky stretching out before us. "Nothing."

George and I both fell silent for a long while, and I could feel that his body was tenser than it had been earlier, and a part of me hoped that it was because he was now imagining me snogging someone else and that it was driving him every bit as mental as he'd been teasing me for feeling.

He fidgeted behind me, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

"I'll have you know–" he began suddenly, and I couldn't help smiling again because I knew exactly where this was going, "–my kissing skills are unparalleled. Krum's tongue has nothing on mine."

I snorted, letting my suddenly heavy eyes fall shut as I laughed.

**xx**

I shouldn't have been surprised that I fell asleep, given the fact that we were likely coming up on three o'clock in the morning and I had not slept since the night before.

But I'd never fallen asleep on a broom before and I wasn't prepared for the jolt of fear I felt when I cracked open an eye and saw wisps of clouds beneath my feet and the faint twinkling lights of tiny houses and lampposts far below.

Probably not the smartest thing to do given the situation, but I jumped and jerked awake, the way my body would often do after falling asleep in my own bed, only now I was soaring through the sky at a dangerous height. My hands immediately reached out for anything they could grab. Namely, George's forearms.

"It's okay," he said, his voice calm and soothing, all traces of jealousy and anger long-forgotten. "I've got you. You just dozed off." I sat perfectly still, fingertips digging into George's skin as I waited for my heart to stop pounding.

"How on earth did I manage to do that?" I breathed.

"You're tired, I reckon," was George's amused response.

"I must be to fall asleep while flying," I said, but I relaxed enough to loosen my death grip on George's arm.

George once more leaned forward to rest his chin on my shoulder. "You talk in your sleep. Did you know that?"

"What? I most certainly do not."

George laughed, the sound vibrating gently through his chest so that I felt it against my back. "Oh, but you do."

"What did I say?" I asked, suddenly worried.

I felt George shrug. "Not much really. Just my name. And maybe something about knitting some hats for house-elves."

"George," I said through a sudden yawn. I could already feel myself getting groggy again. "You're making that up."

"Only the part about knitting. The rest was true. Merlin's honor."

My eyelids fluttered shut even as I tried to argue. "I didn't say your name in my sleep."

"Did too," he said simply, chuckling again. And then he began to nuzzle with his nose against my ear. Not in a seductive way. Just sweetly.. affectionately.. and in the comfort of my warm, drowsy state, I didn't question or fight it. "Go to sleep, Granger," George said, his voice so soft that it was almost a whisper. "I've got you."

* * *

**Author's Note: **N'awwww :P I really enjoyed writing that chapter. I hope you all enjoyed reading it! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the slight delay. My brother got married this weekend so that obviously had me a bit busy, and then my poor furbaby got an ear infection so there was a much-needed [though slightly traumatic for her] trip to the vet's office :P

But I listened to your reviews and made sure that this was a longer chapter because I know a lot of you are always wanting more! I'm really anal about wanting to cut out all the fluff and only give you the stuff that is constantly moving the plot along.. but this time I left a bit of the fluff in for you ;)

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

When I woke up again, I was greeted by the grey dawn, the sky just beginning to take on a pink and gold tint at the horizon line where the sun would soon be showing her face. The Forbidden Forest was beneath us.

"Morning, you," George said in a soft voice when he felt me stir.

I yawned, stretching my limbs as best and as carefully as I could while still atop George's broom. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A while," he said, and I could hear the gentle smile in his voice.

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling a little guilty. "You must be exhausted."

But he just shrugged. "I'm alright. Oi–" he added suddenly, pointing to a spot out on the horizon, "–That smoke. D'you reckon that's coming from Hagrid's hut?"

Following George's finger to the place he was pointing, I could just make out a few thin tendrils of smoke rising up behind what I could now see was the edge of the forest. Just beyond, Hogwarts loomed up tall and majestic on the cliff in the distance.

"Yes. I suppose it must be," I agreed. "We should probably make our descent soon."

George didn't say anything but he put the slightest amount of pressure on the broom handle, pointing it down and beginning a gentle decline.

"Look," he said as we began to draw nearer to the treetops. "Do you see them?"

Summoning up a bit of extra courage, I leaned over George's arm and peered down into the trees. It took a moment for my brain to stop panicking at our still-intimidating height and to register the grey shapes moving in the shadows of the forest below, but then I gasped. Thestrals.

I wondered how many more of us would be able to see them now, after all the death the war had brought us.

George maneuvered us carefully through the trees as we continued our descent, and soon we were on the ground in a clearing just within the woods, very near to where we used to have our Care of Magical Creatures lessons.

"You feeling alright?" George asked, holding the broom steady while I climbed down, and now looking at me with a slightly smug expression for having done as he'd promised and delivered us both safely to our destination. "Still in one piece?"

I narrowed my eyes at him but my pursed lips betrayed the fact that I wanted to smile. "Yes, it does seem that way."

He grinned. "Good." And then he too dismounted. Holding onto his broomstick with his left hand, he raised his wand with his right. "_Accio_ resurrection stone!" he commanded, and then waited in silence.

Nothing happened and I shot him a half-scoffing, half-amused stare.

He returned my look with a small smile and shrugged. "Worth a try, wasn't it?"

The two of us stood together on the forest floor, spinning in slow circles as we observed our new surroundings and contemplated which direction we should go. I had never been to the acromantula nest. I'd only heard Harry and Ron's horrible accounts of it and, while not terrified of spiders like Ron was, hearing about their encounter second-hand had been more than enough to sate my curiosity about the creatures.

Still, there was a slight path just off to our left, the grass flattened in some areas and entirely absent in others, revealing big patches of brown earth after what must have been years of foot travel, and that seemed as good a starting place as any.

"That way?" George asked, noticing the path and the way in which I was eyeing it.

"What do you think?" I asked, fighting my instinctual urge to plan and control everything. This was George's quest; I was simply tagging along to help and to do what I could to make sure he stayed safe.

George turned his gaze back to the path on our left and gave a casual shrug. "Seems as good a place to start as any," he said, and I bit back a pleased smile at the way his words so closely echoed my own thoughts. "Just stick close, alright?" he added, turning back to me with a more serious expression. "Fred and I were sneaking in here just a few days into our first year and never met anything we couldn't handle together." The faintest ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of George's mouth as he revisited some old memory, and then it was gone, his gaze focused solely on me once more. "Still, just stick close and be careful, yeah?"

I raised an eyebrow. "George Weasley telling someone to be careful? I don't believe it."

"Hilarious, Granger," he said with a playful roll of his eyes before again growing serious. "I just don't want you thinking I'm taking this lightly–you coming here with me." He hoisted his broom over his left shoulder, keeping his wand clutched tightly in his right hand. "Just be a good girl and keep close, alright?" He was smiling again, his tone deliberately patronizing.

Now I was the one rolling my eyes with feigned annoyance. "Come on," I said, taking a step towards the path, reaching out and giving a quick tug on the hem of George's shirt to pull him along with me.

**xx**

The path took us deeper into the woods and, though the sun was surely rising in the sky above, the forest seemed to grow denser and darker all around us. While this wasn't entirely pleasant, I was at least relieved when mid-morning came and went with no encounters with anything more dangerous than a few hippogriffs who only eyed us with mild interest as we passed them by.

It was nearing noon when I received my first fright, and I had my wand poised and ready to cast a defensive jinx when I realized that the sudden noise from George that had startled me so, was nothing more than a loud, barking laugh.

"Dad's car!" he said, veering right from the path and making his way towards the light blue Ford Anglia I now noticed was parked under a nearby tree. (At least, I _thought_ it might have been light blue at one time, though it was so caked with dirt and mud and twigs that it was difficult to tell for sure.)

At the sound of George's voice, the engine revved to life, and when George made his way down the side of the car, his fingers gently tracing over the dirty exterior as he went, the car responded to that too, the engine sounding for all the world as if it were purring at George's touch.

With a gentle tug on the handle, he pulled open the front door, ducking his head to take a peek inside.

"So many memories in this thing," he said, smiling as he eyed the interior. "Fred and I snuck out in it more times than I could even count."

He moved on to one of the back doors then, opening it and suddenly looking up at me with a suggestive glimmer in his eye. He opened his mouth to speak and I braced myself for an improper invitation to join him in the backseat, but the little gleam in his eye died a sudden death as he looked at me and he closed his mouth again. He turned his gaze back to the car and closed the doors.

"Right. Shall we go on?" he asked in an overly-polite tone, already making his way back towards the path.

"Um–" I began, surprised and confused that George hadn't taken the opportunity to say something entirely inappropriate. In the place of what surely would have been butterflies had he flirted with me, there was instead a dull pang of disappointment in the pit of my stomach as I watched him walk past me with nothing more than a friendly smile in my direction. "Yeah. Yes," I said, trying not to sound as stunned as I felt as I watched him go.

Not that I had any right to feel disappointed. I had just the night before accused George of toying with me, hadn't I? I couldn't now be upset that he actually seemed to be making an effort to not play with my feelings, could I?

I shook my head at myself and my conflicted thoughts and set off after George.

We continued on our path a while longer, stopping only briefly to have a bit of lunch, and then we were once again on our way.

"We should keep an eye out for a good place to set up camp," I said when the afternoon had settled upon us but brought with it no signs of us yet nearing the acromantula nest. "I think it would be a good idea to get the tent up and all the wards in place before it gets completely dark."

George nodded his agreement. "Yeah. S'pose we should rethink the direction we want to start out in tomorrow as well. If Ron and Harry made it to the acromantula nest in one evening, it surely couldn't be this deep in the forest, could it?"

I shook my head, feeling a bit discouraged. "No. It couldn't."

We kept moving for just a few minutes longer, until we came to a small glade just off the beaten-path. There was room enough for our tent there and the surrounding trees lent a degree of protection, making it as good a spot as we were likely to find.

So we at last abandoned our search for the stone for the day and George went to work magicking up the tent while I set about putting the protective wards in place.

When both of those tasks were complete, George pulled back the flap and waved a hand at the now-open entrance, inviting me to go inside first.

This tent was a bit smaller than the one Harry, Ron, and I had used while hunting horcruxes, but that may have been precisely why it felt so cozy.

Colorful curtains and tapestries hung from the walls, draping in elegant cascades that hid the dull canvas walls of the tent and instead filled the room with warm yellows and golds. There were plush armchairs and a sofa sitting atop a worn and faded crimson rug, all of which were positioned around an old, blackened fireplace where there already burned a steady fire. In back there was a full bathroom and a kitchen in which we could cook proper meals, but I was surprised to see that there were no bedrooms, only a few cots in one corner of the living-area, though these at least were covered in thick blankets and puffy, down pillows.

"Nice place you got here," George said, glancing around as he set down his bag and broom.

I summoned over a few jars and lanterns and began filling them with flickering blue flames. "Well," I began a little sheepishly, "it isn't mine, actually. It's Bill's."

"Bill's?" repeated George, who had turned and was now watching interestedly as I set flames inside the jars and then levitated them to different points within the tent until everything was softly illuminated.

"He loaned it to Harry, Ron, and me," I explained. "And after the war, I sort of forgot to give it back."

"Nicking things from my brother," George said, shaking his head at me and making a gentle _tsk-tsk_ sound. "Don't worry. I won't tell." And then he winked at me, as if we were co-conspirators.

I rolled my eyes but smiled. "I'm going to get started on supper. What would you like?" I asked as I retreated towards the kitchen. "And don't tell me you're not hungry."

"I'm famished, actually," George said, and when I looked at him with surprise, he smiled. "All that walking, I guess."

"Good," I said, smiling back, relieved that I wouldn't have to force him to eat this time.

"Do you need any help?" he asked, and when I shook my head in response, he nodded and took a step backwards towards the flap of the tent. "I want to go have a little look around. See what I can see."

"Wait!" I called after him as he reached the tent's opening and turned his back to me. "You didn't tell me what you'd like to eat."

George turned back to me, shrugging. "I don't care what we have. Surprise me."

I pursed my lips at him. "You do realize that means you're not allowed to complain if it's something you don't like, right?"

At this, George laughed. "No complaints, I promise."

"Alright," I said in a high-pitched _you can't say I didn't warn you_ tone, but then softened as I added, "Just don't go too far, okay?"

Obviously picking up on the slight note of worry in my voice, George gave me a soft smile. "I'll stay inside the wards. Just shout if you need anything." And then he ducked through the opening and stepped out into the dusky evening.

Encouraged by George's returned appetite, I prepared a meal that would have made even Molly Weasley proud, with chicken that I roasted over my blue flames, to say nothing of the potatoes and peas and carrots and rolls. I even set out a few of those chocolates filled with the strawberry mousse and clotted cream from Honeyduke's that I loved so much, on the off-chance that George was feeling up for dinner _and_ dessert.

When everything was ready and the small wooden table was set with our dinner and plates and utensils and bottles of butterbeer, I stepped out to find George.

Fortunately, the task proved to be an easy one.

It was now completely dark out, and my gaze was drawn immediately to the soft blue light hovering slowly, side to side, backwards and forwards, over a patch of dirt just a small distance away from the tent.

George was kneeling there, his lit wand providing the light as he searched the ground for the resurrection stone.

I crossed my arms over my chest and watched him for a moment, watched the look of intense concentration on his face, my emotions warring inside me as I stood there. Because he looked beautiful like that, his handsome face set in an expression of firm determination, and the sight of it made my heart beat a little more quickly than usual and tugged like with invisible strings at the corners of my mouth, tempting me to smile. But I also felt guilty as I watched him putting so much effort and heart into something that couldn't possibly end happily for him, and I silently chastised myself, thinking that if I was a better friend, if I was braver, I would do more to convince him to let this idea of the resurrection stone go.

But I knew I couldn't do that. Not unless I was willing to risk our friendship. And that was too big a risk to take.

Like Harry had said, I had to let George make his own choice about this. All I could do was to be there for him and help him in whatever way he would let me.

In shifting my weight from one foot to the other, a twig snapped under my shoe, and George's head turned in my direction.

"Hey," I said, dropping my arms and trying to make it seem as if I hadn't been standing there staring at him for several minutes. "Any luck?"

He shook his head. He extinguished the light of his wand, tucked it into his back pocket, and then used his hands to help push himself to his feet. "Didn't figure I'd find it out here, not being at the acromantula nest and all," he said with a small shrug. "But I had to look."

I nodded. "Perfectly logical. It could have been picked up by a bird or a squirrel and dropped somewhere, for all we know. It could be anywhere."

George gave a dry smile at that unpleasant thought. "Yeah." He gave another shrug. "But I'm not worried. We'll find it." He flashed me a brighter, happier smile, dusting the dirt from his hands onto his jeans. "Did you need something?"

Amused, I shook my head at George and made my way towards him. "Supper is ready," I said, now holding out one hand and motioning for him to do the same. "Let me see your hands."

He looked a bit confused but did as he was told, holding out his hands and allowing me to turn them palm-side up. I softly muttered the _aguamenti_ incantation, picturing in my mind a running tap and a gentle, steady stream of cool water began to flow from the tip of my wand, rinsing the dirt from George's hands.

"Here," he said, still holding his hands palm-up but now repeatedly crooking the fingers of one in a nonverbal command to hand over my wand. When I looked hesitant, he smirked. "I'll give it back," he said, and I at last relented. "Hold out your hands."

I reluctantly did so, not sure that I should be too trusting of George Weasley armed with a wand that was currently emitting water, but when my hands were outstretched, he simply returned the favor, gently pouring the water over my hands to clean them for supper. There was a slight sputter and the water slowed to a trickle, at which time I shot a nervous glance up at George, but he was still just concentrating on his task, nothing about his appearance looking particularly mischievous. And then a burst of fragrant, soapy bubbles came rushing out and I cupped my palms to catch them.

Careful to keep his hand steady, George lifted my wand up and placed the end of it in his mouth, gripping it lightly between his teeth so that his hands were free to join mine under the stream of bubbles.

Part of me questioned this, questioned if it was sanitary and questioned how my wand felt about being held in George's mouth, but I carefully studied the soft lips and the perfect teeth and the little glimpse of pink tongue just barely visible, and decided that my wand must surely be having the best moment of its life.

And once again there was a war going on inside me, as I now couldn't decide where to look and what to focus on, whether it be my wand, held carefully in place between George's lips, or down at our hands which were now so close that they kept accidentally bumping and rubbing against each other.

His mouth won out in the end.

George must have felt my gaze on his face because he glanced up from our hands, looking me directly in the eyes, his own twinkling gently. One corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk as we stared at each other.

There was a sudden wetness trickling onto my palms then, George having turned the bubbles back into water, and I gasped at the cold surprise. He laughed, so suddenly that it forced him to momentarily clamp his lips down around my wand to keep from spitting it out.

"Over," he said as soon as he'd composed himself, taking care not to drop my wand as he spoke the word around it, and I turned my hands over to let him rinse off the other sides.

When we were finished and our hands rinsed and clean, I reached up and gently plucked my wand from his mouth and set about the task of drying our hands with a blast of warm air.

"You know," I said softly, feeling my cheeks flush as I stared down at George's hands, his long, nimble fingers bending and flexing as I dried them, "there is a sink in the tent. We could have washed up inside."

George gave an amused little hum. "But this way is much more fun."

A smile crept over my lips, and I don't know why I did it, if it was the rush of being so close to George, his little smirk at me as we stood alone together in the dark, or if it was simply a momentary descent into insanity, but I was suddenly overcome by a feeling of playfulness.

I took a tiny step back from George, gazing up at him with what I hoped was a completely innocent expression.

But he narrowed his eyes at me. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

I widened my eyes and batted my lashes. "Like what?"

He tucked his chin to his chest, eyes still narrowed, his lips pursed together as he stared down at me. "I'm George Weasley. You think I don't know a look of mischievousness when I see it?" My only answer was a grin, and the corners of George's mouth twitched in response. "Granger..." he said, clearly warning me, and I knew I had to act quickly.

So without another second's hesitation, I tilted my wand up, shooting water from the tip and squirting him in the face.

George jumped and sucked in a surprised breath as the cold water hit him and then made trails down his neck. A few droplets managed to sneak under the collar of his shirt, coaxing a shout from George as the cool water trickled down the bare skin of his chest.

I brought my hands up to cover my mouth as I laughed. It was silly and immature and, George being the co-inventor of joke wands that turned into rubber chickens, I knew the prank was one he could appreciate.

George was bent forward, laughing as he shook the water from his hair, and as he straightened back up, he tugged on the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up so that he could dry his face on it and revealing quite a lot of stomach in the process. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, finding George to be so nicely toned, considering all his years playing [and excelling at] quidditch. But then, I'd never actually seen George without a shirt before, so the sight of all those tight, lean muscles, so close to me that I could reach out and touch them if I dared to, actually was quite a shock to my system, leaving me dry-mouthed and pink-cheeked and warm all over, and it took every ounce of will I had to tear my gaze away when George began to lower his arms so that he wouldn't catch me staring.

"Ohhh, Granger," he said, drawing my gaze back to him. His shirt was once more in its proper place and he was shaking his head, eyeing me with a wicked, dangerous smile that told me I was really in for it now. "You're going to wish you hadn't done that."

I tried to laugh, or to look frightened, or to look _anything_ other than flustered by my prolonged ogling of his abs, but I must have failed miserably.

"Oi," George said, frowning slightly at the sudden change in my temperament. "What's with you?"

"What?" I said, the word nothing more than a desperate attempt at stalling so I could think of a believable response. "Nothing's with me," I said, but my cheeks betrayed me by going an even deeper shade of crimson. My eyes followed suit, traitorously sneaking a glance down at George's now-clothed stomach before I even realized what they were doing and forcibly snapped my gaze back up to his face.

George followed my gaze down to his own stomach, and a look of comprehension dawned on his face. "Oh," he said, and now he was blushing as well, the pale skin beneath his freckles going suddenly pink.

Something about his face being flushed, and knowing that it was because of me, made George look even more beautiful, and I had to bite my bottom lip to keep myself from doing something crazy like telling him I thought so.

And it became even more difficult to refrain myself when he glanced back up at me because, now that he understood the change in my mood, his eyes were flashing in that dark, hungry sort of way that set a million butterflies off in my stomach.

But neither of us acted.

We just stood there.

Alone.

In the dark.

Eyeing each other.

Until it at last became clear that neither of us was going to make a move. George cared too much to take advantage of my feelings, and I cared too much to throw myself at him for snog-fests that, in the end, meant nothing to him.

We were at an impasse and we knew it.

And so George cleared his throat, the sound loud and purposeful, intentionally shattering the tension that had built between us, and he gave me a soft, surprisingly bashful smile.

"C'mon, Granger," he said, motioning with a jerk of his head back towards the tent. "Our supper is getting cold."

**xx**

When dinner was eaten and all the washing up had been done and George and I had formulated a new plan for our resumed search the following day, I retired to the sofa in front of the fire with a nice, big book for a bit of reading.

Reading is a very difficult thing to do, however, with someone pacing back and forth across the room in front of you.

"George," I said in a flat tone after I'd followed his head over the top of my book, watching as he crossed from one side of the room to the other for what was at least the seventh time.

"Yeah?"

"Stop it."

He stilled his steps and turned to look at me. "Stop what?"

"The pacing!" I said with a laugh. "It's distracting."

"Right. Sorry." George strolled across the room towards me, collapsing into an oversized armchair. "Just feeling a bit restless, I s'pose." He had only been sitting for ten seconds when his right leg began to bounce. "I feel like I should be out there looking for it."

I marked my place in the book and set it aside, sighing. "It's too dark out, George. It's too dangerous."

To my surprise, he nodded. "I know. I just need to be doing _something_ to keep my mind occupied. D'you want to play a game of exploding snap?"

"Erm. Well..." I said, allowing my voice to trail off. The truth was, while I'd gotten the gist of the game from seeing so many others play it around me, I'd never actually played much myself, having always been too busy focusing on more important matters. Like homework. So I was certain I wouldn't be very good, certainly not as good as George–I knew; I'd seen him play–and I didn't exactly enjoy doing things I wasn't good at..

"I'll take that as a no, then," George said, smiling at me and what must have been a distressed expression on my face. But then his own lit up. "Never mind that," he said, suddenly springing from his seat. "I've got just the thing."

I watched him retreat to the corner where his bag sat, feeling both curious and a little nervous as I wondered what he was up to. He returned just a minute later, carrying a small wooden box which he placed on the couch between us as he sat down beside me.

"What is that?" I asked, trying to sound less apprehensive than I felt.

He grinned. "I'll show you." He opened the box and stuck his hand inside, pulling it out a second later and holding out a tiny blue paper tube for me to see. It was no taller than the length of his pinky, and there was a fuse trailing out of one end.

I laughed. "You brought fireworks?" I should have known.

"Never know when they might come in handy," he said, still smiling. "And if I recall correctly, you quite enjoy our fireworks."

"Oh, do I?"

George nodded. "You do. You even went so far as to call them _wonderful_ once."

"You actually remember that?" I asked, thinking back to my fifth year at Hogwarts when George and Fred set off an overwhelming number of fireworks all throughout the castle to cause a bit of mayhem as they rebelled against Dolores Umbridge. I'd fought my way through the crowd in the Gryffindor common room that night to compliment them. I was flattered that he'd remembered.

"Course I remember," George said. "It's high praise when Hermione Granger tells you you've created something wonderful."

He turned then to the nearest jar which was levitating in the air just at the other end of the couch and waved a hand at it. The slip of his smile told me that he'd expected the flame to go out and was surprised when it didn't.

He pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the jar. "_Nox_." Again, nothing happened.

With a huff, he stood up and walked the small distance over to it, bent over, and attempted to blow it out.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from giggling. I could have told him those attempts wouldn't work, of course, but it was fun watching him try.

He put his thumb and index finger to his mouth, wetting the tips and then trying to snuff the tiny flame out with a quick pinch, again with no success.

"Blimey, Granger. How do you extinguish these things?" he asked, now sounding slightly frustrated, and I couldn't help feeling a bit pleased with myself.

"Here. Let me," I said, reaching for my own wand, and with one gentle flick of the wrist, all the blue flames in all the jars throughout the tent went out, dousing us in sudden darkness that was lessened only by the low fire still glowing orange in the hearth.

"Excellent," George said, sounding cheerful again.

He settled himself back on the couch and picked up the little blue tube. He lit the fuse with the tip of his wand, and just when the spark had reached the top and met with the blue paper, he tossed it up into the air where it immediately burst into a dozen blue stars above our heads.

When that one had fizzled out, he returned his hand to the wooden box and rummaged around until he found another one he liked. Over and over he did this: a red disc that zipped through the air before exploding in multi-colored sparks; a pink cylinder that bloomed into a bouquet of sparkling flowers that actually left the room smelling faintly of sweet roses; a golden sphere that looked suspiciously like a bomb but which only burst into golden flame and sprouted a white, fiery tail as it soared about the room like a miniature comet.

Impressive and beautiful though they were, I found myself watching George more than I watched the fireworks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught me staring at him, and he turned his head to better look at me. "What are you thinking over there, Granger?" he asked, and he was really, _truly_ smiling.

I shook my head, a huge smile on my face as well.

"Ah, c'mon. I know you're thinking _something_." He leaned over, playfully knocking my shoulder with his. "I can almost hear the wheels turning in there."

I tried to purse my lips in indignation to that statement, but I was still grinning too widely. "This is the happiest I've seen you in a long time," I said simply. "You just seem like you again."

George's smile softened as he looked at me. "Yes, well, I suppose I _feel_ a bit more like me again. Because I know I'm going to have Fred back soon."

My smile faded a bit then and I averted my gaze to the box of fireworks still sitting between us, once again overcome with guilt for going along with this whole thing that was sure to end in more heartache for George.

But George was too certain, too firm in his belief that all would end well to be dissuaded or discouraged by my obvious doubts.

He ducked his head so that I was once more looking him in the eyes, and there was something tender about his smile now. "And the company's not too bad in the meantime."

I snorted a small laugh at the not-entirely-flattering compliment and leaned over, this time nudging George's shoulder with my own. "Well, you're not so horrible yourself, George."

**xx**

Having slept so much on his broom as he flew us to the forest that morning, I felt wide awake even after George had exhausted his small store of fireworks and had finally begun to nod off on the couch.

I woke him and sent him off to a cot to get some rest while I went outside to double-check the wards and to have a quick look around.

The wards were perfect, of course, and after an uneventful half-hour sat outside the tent, I found myself yawning and decided we were safe enough that I could join George for a bit of sleep.

By the time I reentered the tent, George was curled up on a cot, seemingly asleep, and when I'd changed into my pajamas and lowered myself onto the cot beside him, I heard his slow and steady breaths, confirming that he was indeed out.

I closed my eyes, concentrating on George's breathing, reassuring and soothing and lulling me to sleep...

Until I heard him mumble something.

My eyes popped back open and I smirked at the realization that he too talked in his sleep, and I had every intention of teasing him the next day, just as he'd teased me earlier.

George tossed on his cot then, turning over onto his side so that he was facing me, enabling me to hear him more clearly when he began to speak again.

"Why can't I see you?" he asked of some mystery figure in his dream. "...want to see you."

I sat up in my own cot, taking care to move as gently as possible so as not to wake George as I leaned over to get a closer look at him. With the soft moonlight filtering in through the tent's flap, I was just able to see his face, his closed eyes, the small frown of his mouth, the slight crease between his brows as he listened to the dream-figure's response.

But then the frown gave way and a smile spread over his lips, and I was surprised to hear George chuckle, the sound sudden and warm and deep and incredibly entertained. I saw a flash of white teeth as his smile widened into a grin just before he rolled over, flopping onto his back.

He flung an arm up, letting it rest on the empty bit of pillow above his head.

And he was still laughing as he whispered, "Shuddup, Freddie."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I watched a video on youtube this weekend of James and Oliver at a convention earlier this year. (I'm going to assume that anyone reading Weasley Twin fics will already know James and Oliver and who plays which twin, but just in case someone doesn't know, James = Fred and Oliver = George.) So! Someone asked the boys who their favorite characters were.. and Oliver (George) said that he always liked Peeves and said it was a shame that he wasn't featured in the movies. And you know who James (so, Fred..) said his favorite character was? ...

George.

Say it with me now.. AWWW. All my Weasley Twin feels exploded when he said that 333

Haha.

Thanks as always for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to review. It means so much to me!

I hope everyone is having a great week! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note**: I don't own anything :(

Thank you so much for reading. ENJOY! :)

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of humming and of soft, metallic clanks. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, blinking until the room came into focus, and when I lifted my head from my pillow and gazed around for the source of the sound, I saw George in the kitchen. He was standing over the stove, frying pan in hand, humming a little tune to himself.

"Morning, Granger," he said brightly when he noticed that I was awake and looking at him. "How would you like your eggs?"

I pushed myself up onto my elbows. "Scrambled is fine," I said, trying not to sound so surprised at waking to find him already up and preparing our breakfast.

"And butter on your toast?"

"Yes, please," I said, and George gave an understanding nod and then turned his attention back to the task before him. I sat up, frowning as I watched him, still humming and flicking his wand with a bit of.. well.. _perkiness_.

"George," I said, a curious tone evident in my voice.

"Hmm?"

I paused only briefly, considering my question before I asked it. "Did you have any dreams last night?"

"Dreams?" George suddenly stilled and he turned to look at me. "Erm.. yeah, actually," he admitted, but he looked a little worried when he added, "why d'you ask?"

I no longer had any desire to tease him about talking in his sleep. I wasn't even sure I should bring it up, considering the slightly-anxious look he now wore on his face. I wanted to give him the opportunity to talk about it if he needed to, but he didn't seem to be jumping at the chance. So I just shook my head, giving him a smile. "I was just curious," I told him. "You just seem to be in quite a good mood this morning."

His face relaxed and he returned my small smile. "Yeah, I guess I am. Quite good dreams, I suppose. Now," he said, his voice suddenly sounding all business, "why don't you go have a nice shower while I finish all this up? Then, soon as we've eaten, we can pack up and go find that stone."

I nodded my agreement.

I had a hot shower, slipped into some fresh clothes, and by the time I had rejoined George in the main living-area, he had the table laid out with a fabulous breakfast. We talked as we ate, going over our plan to double-back on our path from yesterday and to take a more western turn this time, heading deeper into the heart of the woods, and as soon as we had finished eating and everything was washed and packed up and the wards taken down, we were on our way.

It was a day's hike to backtrack the trail we'd followed the day before and, with my legs now aching from the previous day's exertion, it felt even longer.

Still, our plan to turn westward proved to be a good one and, just as the forest began to fall into twilight, George and I found ourselves staring ahead in awe at the abandoned acromantula nest.

The trees here grew thicker and darker than any I'd seen in any other part of the forest, and there were spider webs the size of massive tapestries hanging from the boughs, the threads as thick as rope and glinting silver wherever a torn strand got caught in a rare, stray breeze.

There were ginormous egg sacs as well–pale, fuzzy orbs nestled in the roots of the trees–but these appeared to have been slashed open and now sat abandoned, like strange, empty eggshells on the forest floor.

I let out a shaky breath, actually feeling thankful that the death eaters had been through here and driven all the acromantulas out in order to use the space as their meeting place.

Once again, George and I found a secure spot to set up camp, pitching our tent and surrounding it with protective wards before turning our attentions once more to the search.

We spent the evening with our backs hunched over, faces turned to the ground, lit wands providing us light as we hunted the stone, checking between tree roots, kicking up piles of leaves, kneeling on sore knees and sifting with our fingers through the dirt until every inch of our bodies ached with the effort.

George was groping around a small hole near the base of a tree when he suddenly jumped to his feet, hissing in pain and swearing.

"Son of a–" he swore through gritted teeth, holding his left hand with his right and rubbing it to ease the pain there. I hurried over, reaching George just in time to see a small creature fly up out of the hole. At first glance it could've been a fairy, but then I noted the extra set of limbs, the coarse, black hair over its body, and the insect-like wings protruding from its back. Letting go of his injured hand, George raised his wand. "_Immobulus_!" he said, an edge of anger to his voice as he immobilized the doxy.

"Let me see," I said, reaching out for George's hand. He offered it willingly and, in the light of my wand, I could clearly make out the small bite-mark, the razor-sharp teeth having punctured the skin so that tiny drops of blood were rising to the surface. I turned his hand over to see it from a better angle and George sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth.

"I forgot how badly their venom stings," he said with a pained laugh and I winced at his discomfort, taking care to handle his injured hand more gingerly.

"Do we have any antidote?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at his hand and tried to flex it. "In my bag. But it's not that bad, really." He looked up and gave me a small smile. "Let's just keep looking."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "George. Doxy bites are poisonous."

"It'll be fine," he said, and he tried to wave his hand casually through the air but ended up hissing in pain again.

I frowned at him, shaking my head. Boys. "I'm going to get the antidote."

"Don't worry about it, Granger. I'm alright, really."

But I was already walking away from him. "Stay and keep looking if you like," I called back to him. "But I'm going to get it."

"Alright, alright," I heard him mumble, trying to sound disgruntled over losing the argument, even though he was now wearing a tiny, relieved smile.

Back inside the tent, I found George's bag resting against the foot of the sofa in the living-area. I unzipped it and stuck my hand inside, surprised to find that, just like my own handbag, George's bag had been charmed with an undetectable extension charm, and my arm slid in past my elbow before my fingertips finally grazed the bottom.

I groped around inside, feeling for the small bottle of antidote and, when I couldn't find it, I pulled back, frowning. I would have to use my wand and _accio_ it. My hand brushed against something on the way up, however, the mysterious item gently scratching against the back of my fingers, making a rustling sound as it grazed my flesh. Curious, I turned my hand so that I could feel it with my palm and fingers, and I found myself clutching what felt like a folded bit of parchment.

I knew it couldn't have been the Marauder's Map; Harry still had that. And, considering that this was George Weasley we were dealing with, I strongly doubted it to be any bit of educational reading.

So I gripped it gently in my fingers and, with a quick glance at the tent's entrance, I pulled it from George's bag. What was the harm in having one little look?

Now gazing down at the item in my hand, I found that it was indeed a bit of folded up parchment. I knew it was wrong. I knew this was an invasion of George's privacy, a breach of his trust, a violation against our friendship...

But I was just so curious.

I pulled open the top fold of the parchment, startled when something else fell out, slowly and gracefully fluttering down to the floor. I picked it up and turned it over, smiling softly to myself as I was greeted by a moving image of Fred and George. This photo was different from the one I'd found on Fred's nightstand the evening I went searching for George. There, they had been younger, still wearing their school robes as they stood in front of their newly-purchased joke shop.

Here, they were older, standing in the small field just beyond The Burrow, just outside the big white tent where we'd all celebrated Bill and Fleur's wedding. In the photo, both boys were dressed in matching suits with coordinating ties and vests of green and purple, but George's ear was bandaged and Fred appeared to be fussing over him. George just smiled and waved him off, clearly telling his twin not to worry, but this only intensified the frown on Fred's face as he fiddled with the wrappings covering George's wound. George pointed at the camera then, reminding Fred that they're supposed to be posing for a photo, and while Fred was momentarily distracted, looking in the direction of the camera, George seized the opportunity to launch himself onto his twin's back, wrapping his arms around Fred's neck. The action was sudden and rough and clearly meant to cheer Fred up and to snap him out of the worried mood he was so obviously in. And it must have worked. Caught off guard, Fred's eyes went wide in shock and he stumbled forward, staggering under George's weight. But he quickly steadied himself, reaching up and gripping George's arms to help him keep his balance, and then he was laughing, his eyes creasing at the corners. George, still clinging onto his brother from behind, rested his chin on Fred's shoulder, flashing an exaggeratedly goofy grin as the camera's flash went off, freezing Fred and George in that happy moment...

The smile on my face faded. It was hard to believe that that had only been a year ago. So much had happened since then.

My eyes drifted up from the photo, now noticing and focusing on the word _George_ written in a shaky hand at the top of the piece of parchment behind it. I pulled the page forward, positioning it in front of the photograph, and started to read.

_George,_

_Feels really odd, this. Writing you a letter, I mean. I don't think we've ever done that before, have we? I can always just tell you whatever I'm thinking. Or you can just feel it without me having to voice it._

_But you've just had your ear blown off and are currently sleeping on the couch and, sorely tempted though I am, I don't want to wake you._

_I'm not quite sure what I would say to you anyway. That's a first too, isn't it? But everything's just so jumbled up inside my head at the moment. But that's where this letter comes in. I'm hoping it'll help me make sense of what I'm feeling._

_Sounds awfully stupid when I say it like that, doesn't it?_

_Oi. Stop it. _

_Seriously, George, I can feel you smirking. Prat._

_You cracked some truly awful jokes tonight, I hope you're aware of that. I laughed and played right along, of course. Because that's what we do, innit mate? We crack jokes and pull pranks and lighten the mood for everyone else. _

_But everyone else is asleep now, even mum went off to bed half-an hour ago. How any of them can sleep while you're lying here with a hole in your head is beyond me. But it's just you and me down here now, which means I'm not having to smile and laugh it all off like what happened tonight didn't scare the bloody hell out of me._

_Because it did. Do you see my handwriting? Seriously. Are you seeing this? If it looks like a four year old wrote it, it's because I can't seem to make my hands stop trembling._

_You know I've been scared before. When we almost lost dad to the snake. Bill to Greyback. I was scared. I was worried for them. It hurt to think of losing them._

_But I've never, not even in my worst nightmares, imagined that I could lose _you_. That's not the way this thing is supposed to work, Georgie. We came in together, we're going out together._

_I can't even comprehend it happening any other way, you know?_

_So to get back to the house tonight and to find you lying here unconscious and missing an ear and so white from all the blood you lost... _

_Bloody hell, George. _

_And it was just a cutting curse. What if it'd been a killing curse! I never would've forgiven myself._

_I should've fought harder to stay with you. I should've told dad and Lupin and Mad-Eye to shove their disapproval up their arses and ridden with you whether they bleeding liked it or not._

_I'm sorry I wasn't there, Georgie._

_Heh. You just giggled in your sleep. Always makes me laugh when you do that. _

_Would it be weird for me to climb onto the couch with you and just hug you? You know, the way we used to sleep sometimes when we were really little?_

_It'd be weird, wouldn't it. _

_Damn._

_Because you have no idea how bloody tempted I am to do just that, to crawl up there and hug you and never let you leave my sight ever again. But, yeah, I suppose that might be awkward for everyone involved so I reckon I won't. I'll just stay sitting here on the floor by your head instead. Staring at you all night as you sleep. Because, y'know, that's not weird at all..._

_..You're laughing at me right now, aren't you?_

_Insensitive git._

_That's alright. Hearing you laugh will make me feel better._

_Listen to me. You're the one missing an ear, you're the one who nearly bled to death, and I need _you_ to make _me_ feel better. But that's what you were doing earlier anyway, wasn't it? I saw the little glances you snuck at me every time you made a joke about your ear. You were trying to make me feel better. To cheer me up. To protect me from being swallowed up with fear, knowing I could've lost you tonight. Because you know me. You knew that's what I needed. _

_And I love you for it._

_I'm sorry I don't say that enough._

_I know we're not typically ones for sentimental words, but tonight's made me realize that I need to say it more. I love you, Georgie. You're my best friend, my partner in crime, the Forge to my Gred. You are, quite frankly, the single most important person in the world to me and I–_

"Hermione?"

The sound of my name snapped me back to the present and my gaze darted up from the page to the opening of the tent where George stood frozen, one hand still holding open the canvas flap, his back still hunched over as he ducked to enter, staring at me.

"George," I breathed in a surprised (and suddenly ashamed) whisper. "I–" I began, struggling for words as I glanced down at the letter in my hands. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said, and I could feel my eyes begin to burn, close to tears at the realization that I'd been caught doing something I knew was wrong. "I was just looking for the antidote," I insisted. "But I found this. And, oh my goodness, I'm so sorry." I hurriedly returned the photo to its proper place, folded the letter back up, and held it out to him. "I had absolutely no right. George, please don't be mad at me."

Suddenly coming to himself, George straightened up and swiftly crossed the room and, as soon as he reached me, he gently took the letter from my hand. "It's alright," he said, though his face was pinker than I'd ever seen it. "I'm not mad. It's just a bit embarrassing," he mumbled, gazing down at the folded bit of parchment which he held very tenderly, like he didn't want to wrinkle or disturb it in any way. "Did you read all of it?" He dared to look back up at me then, gauging my response.

Still horrified by what I'd done (and, even worse, that I'd been caught doing it) I quickly shook my head. "No. I got to the part where Fred said he realized he needed to tell you more often that he loved you."

George's gaze dropped back down to the letter. "Ah," he said, the flush on his cheeks deepening and spreading up to his ear. "Well, it gets worse. There are tear splotches and everything. Fred's from when he wrote it, mine from when I read it. It's not pretty," he said, forcing a sad smile onto his face as he tried to joke. "Especially when you take into account how many times I've reread it and cried over it since Fred..." His voice became thick and choked with emotion and he trailed off, but I didn't need him to finish. I knew that last word would've been _died_, and I didn't need to make him say it. He cleared his throat and looked back up at me, forcing a watery smile back into place. "Well, the last paragraph is practically illegible at this point."

"I'm sorry," I said again, letting my gaze drop to the floor and shaking my head sadly. "I shouldn't have looked. It's clearly personal and not my business at all."

"Hermione..." George's voice was gentle and he waited until I was looking up at him again before he continued. "It's alright. I'm a Weasley Twin, remember? If anyone understands being drawn to things that are against the rules, it's me," he said, gracing me with a small wink. "Again, I'm just a bit embarrassed, is all." He paused, turning to tuck the letter and photo safely back into his bag. "More for Fred than for myself, really. No one else would ever believe how soppy the git could be sometimes. Although I suppose my carrying this thing around with me a year later isn't any less embarrassing than his writing it in the first place, eh?" When he turned back to me, he was holding the doxy antidote and wearing a shy smile.

I gave a small shrug. True, I was learning that Fred and George were much more sensitive and emotional than I'd ever imagined them capable of being–at least when it came to each other, anyway–but after all my years around Harry and Ron whose stubbornness and embarrassment kept them from saying kind things to each other even when they'd been fighting and were desperate to make amends, it was actually sort of nice to know that there were at least two boys on the planet who weren't afraid to have a heart-to-heart.

"Fred was scared for you," I said as if this explained things. Because really, it did. Near-death encounters have a funny way of clarifying things and showing people what they really care about. "Now he's gone and you keep this with you as a reminder of your relationship. It's very touching, really."

"Yeahhh," George said, dragging the word out and grimacing slightly, very clearly still embarrassed. "Look. When we find the stone and get Fred back, don't let him know you read any of this, alright?" The grimace gave way to a dry smile as he added, "..the humiliation might be enough to kill him. Again."

"_George_," I said, mouth slightly agape in shock because I'd never heard him make any sort of joke about Fred's death.

George gave a soft snort of laughter through his nose but didn't respond otherwise as he unstoppered the bottle of doxy antidote. I stood watching as he applied a few drops of the liquid onto the bite mark on his hand, the angry red welt immediately paling. George sighed in relief.

As he was plugging the stopper back into the bottle, I thought I heard a soft pitter-patter of something on the roof of the tent, and no sooner had I looked up towards the ceiling did the gentle pitter-patter become a sudden, roaring _wooosssshhhhhh_ as the bottom of a cloud fell out and began a rainy assault on the canvas roof over our heads.

"Do you want to go back out and keep looking?" I asked in spite of the sudden downpour. Because, reading Fred's words, sensing his fear of being separated by death from his twin, I suddenly had a better understanding of George, of his grief, of why he was so desperate to bring Fred back.

George was staring up at the ceiling now as well, listening to the hard, steady pounding of the rain against the tent. A rumble of thunder sounded somewhere in the distance.

He sighed and there was a look of frustration on his face, even though he tried to hide it, turning to me with a strained smile. "It'll be hard to see in this," he said. "We'll just take a break and wait for it to clear up. It'll pass soon." He hitched the corners of his mouth up a little further until the smile almost reached his eyes. "I'm sure of it."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I know I enjoyed writing it :) as always, it's a bit on the short side but I'm hoping you'll forgive me when I tell you that this chapter wasn't in my original outline. I read a lot of Fred/George fanfic this weekend and was inspired by all the ones with them writing letters to each other. Either Fred writing to say goodbye in case he didn't survive the war, or George writing to dead Fred (honestly, even when they're beautifully and incredibly written, I hate reading those stories.. they make me cry too much. Haha. I can't stand Fred being dead..) But I really wanted to try my hand at a Fred/George letter and this chapter is what I came up with :) So maybe you'll forgive the shortness now that you know it's really like a bonus chapter! :D hehe

Believe it or not, you guys, we only have two chapters (and a little epilogue) to go on this fic. I know it doesn't seem like much but, as far as my outline is concerned, we're coming to the end of this particular adventure! Don't despair yet, worrying that things will be left unresolved. I will wrap things up with a nice little bow for you, I promise :)

Also don't despair simply because it's ending! As I mentioned earlier, I've already got an idea and an outline for a new post-DH Weasley Twin/Hermione fic that I will start posting as soon as this one is complete :) So be sure to "follow" me if you want to be alerted when the first chapter of that one goes up!

Thanks as always for taking the time to read and review. Your reviews make me smile like this :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:**

Guest reviewer Kat - I wanted to respond to your review regarding their landing on Hogwarts grounds and how that wouldn't be possible given all the protective wards and enchantments in place. Hermione and George decided against apparating specifically for that reason, knowing they could be seriously hurt if they tried to apparate to a spot too close to the grounds. That's why they flew, and it's why they landed inside the forest, past the clearing where the Magical Creatures lessons were held. (_Past_ meaning even deeper into the woods.) I intentionally had them land inside the forest and NOT on Hogwarts grounds because of your very concerns, but I guess I wasn't clear enough so I apologize for that :) I'm glad you like the story so much that it didn't really bother you anyway ;) hehe. Thanks for reading and reviewing! :)

This is BY FAR the longest chapter I've posted so far so I hope that will make you all happy! :D Thanks so much for reading! ENJOY!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Hours turned into days and those days turned into two weeks, and the light-hearted joy that I'd seen in George at the beginning of our quest, soon began to fizzle out. He joked less.. he ate less.. he talked less.. smiled less..

And the rain didn't let up.

Forcing its way through the dense treetops, the rain came down in heavy sheets, turning what little sunlight that reached us, a misty, gloomy grey. The ground turned to mud that sucked at our shoes as we trod through it, and the constant dampness left us chilled to the bone no matter how long we warmed ourselves in front of the fireplace in the evenings.

We kept searching around the acromantula nest, combing our fingers through the mud, turning over rocks, and peering into burrowed holes, but we were still no closer to finding the resurrection stone.

And it was this, more than the worsening weather, that now had George in such a foul mood.

"I'm gonna go outside and look around again," George spoke up that evening over a dinner he'd barely touched.

I knew better than to argue with him. So I just nodded and let my gaze follow his back as he left the table, crossed the tent, and stepped out into what had become a very stormy night.

I sighed and then, with a flick of my wand, sent our plates into the kitchen to clean themselves.

As was usual for me in the evenings, I retired to the sofa in front of the fireplace with a book. But, as had also become usual for me, the thought of George left me unable to concentrate.

I was worried about him. I'd known this was coming of course. Hadn't I been afraid of this all along? Of the day when George would finally realize that his plan had all been in vain and that he wouldn't be able to bring his twin back? But, selfish though it may have been, perhaps some small part of me had hoped against hope that things might turn out differently. That we might actually find the stone. That it might actually work and that, just maybe, George could have everything he so desperately wanted.

Some small part of me had hoped. Because that was exactly what I wanted for George.

Because I loved him.

However it had started, whatever he felt or didn't feel for me in return, I had fallen for George Weasley. And I wanted to see him truly happy again.

But he was growing more distant again instead, a look of defeat becoming clearer on his face with everyday that passed with still no sign of the stone, and I felt completely helpless, unable to do anything to keep him from pulling away from me and shutting down again.

I stared down at the book in my hands, eyes fixed but not really focused on the same paragraph I'd been trying to read for at least ten minutes. Realizing I'd not taken in a single word, I gave up, letting the book fall shut.

I tried to concentrate on the steady drone of the falling rain, tried to let it relax me, but I just couldn't shake the anxious feeling that had settled over me. Brow furrowed, I stood up and began to pace. My mind and my body were uneasy. Something felt off. Sure, things had been tense, my thoughts occupied with worry over George, stressed over whether or not we would find the stone and how George would react if we didn't, but.. it was something else. Something more than that.

And then, over the rain, I heard a shout.

I froze, my blood suddenly feeling like spikes of ice in my veins.

The voice was deep and raspy, like the man to whom it belonged had spent too many years of his life smoking, and he was loud enough that I could plainly hear him over the rain as he called out to someone else, "I a'ready checked over there, ya idiot! Go 'round the other way!"

I had no way of knowing if these newcomers were friend or foe, but if that icy chill had been my body's instinctive reaction to their presence, I knew I couldn't take any chances. Especially not with George out there on his own. And it was that sudden realization–that George was somewhere outside, very possibly in danger–that brought me back to my senses and unfroze my limbs.

As fast as my hands could manage, I pulled open my bag and yanked out Harry's invisibility cloak and, wand in hand, I rushed outside to find George.

I skidded to a halt just outside the tent, hand flying up to cover my mouth as I fought to keep from crying out in fright.

George, his hair and clothes soaked through from the rain, stood still as stone, his body pressed against the side of a tree just outside the protective wards, in very real danger of being seen by a man in dark emerald robes, creeping just fifteen feet away.

George was clutching his wand, pointing it defensively in the direction of the stranger, and though he didn't look afraid, he was clearly trying to keep himself hidden, something that was soon going to be much more difficult if the stranger continued to move in George's direction.

So I threw the cloak on over my head and ran out to meet him.

Even with the heavy rain muffling the sounds of my steps, the noise of my running–the snapping of twigs and the wet squelching of my shoes in the mud–sounded out deafeningly loud and George's head whipped around to look for the source of the sound, just as the strange man yelled out and demanded to know who was there.

But I didn't stop or look back to see if he was chasing after me.

As soon as I reached George, I grabbed the hem of the cloak and threw it over the top of his head so that it covered us both. In his shock, he opened his mouth to gasp but I put a finger to his lips to silence him and then wrapped my hand around his left wrist and gave it a tug, pulling him down until he was crouching just enough for the cloak to reach the ground and cover our shoes.

And we stayed there, silent and still and barely breathing as the man's continued shouts of _I know you're there!_ and _show yourself!_ grew increasingly louder. He fired a few curses and jinxes in random directions through the forest just for good measure.

Slowly raising his right hand (because my fingers were still wrapped securely around the wrist of his left), George loosened his grip on his wand in order to point towards the wizard, and then back to his own ear where he curled and then suddenly uncurled a few fingers to mime a small explosion near his temple.

I tightened my grip on my wand.

The stranger outside our tent was the dark wizard who had reopened George's wound that night in Knockturn Alley.

In learning this, my instincts were proven justified. This was not someone we wanted to cross paths with if we could avoid it.

But it didn't seem that we would be able to–avoid it, that is–because the man was drawing ever closer. I couldn't see him, I didn't dare turn around to look, but I could hear his steps, and when George gently pulled his wrist from my grasp so that he could snake his arm around my back, silently and protectively pulling me closer into him, I knew the man must be right behind us.

I felt it as George repositioned his right hand, I felt a small breeze at my back as he pointed the tip of his wand against the cloak, aiming it directly at the dark wizard, but George kept his eyes focused on mine. It was so dark out, even darker under the protection of the cloak, but we stood so close together that I could see him clearly. I watched his eyes dart subtly from side to side as he looked back and forth between both of my own. His stare was so intense, so purposeful, like he was willing me to understand the meaning behind it, and I briefly wondered if this was what it was like all those times when the twins seemed to communicate without words, because I could have sworn that I could read words of comfort in George's eyes. _It's alright. I'm right here. I've got you._

The threat of the dark wizard faded from my thoughts and a loud _crack_ just a moment later told me that he had disapparated, that he had given up and that George and I were out of danger, at least momentarily.

But still we stood there, pressed together, hearts pounding, frightened breaths beginning to come out loud and heavy through our noses, our gazes still locked as adrenaline surged through our bodies.

And then, without any word or sign of warning, George's mouth came crashing down against my own.

This wasn't like the grief-driven kisses he'd placed to my neck that day down in the shop, slow and tentative, cautiously gauging my reaction, or like the thankful kiss he'd placed to the top of my head the night I'd agreed to help him find the stone.

This was urgent and deep, the feel of smooth wood against my cheek as George, forgetting the wand in his hand, firmly cupped my face, tilting his own to deepen the kiss. This was his lips claiming mine, a brief clash of teeth, a dance of tongues, the soft sound of jagged breaths, the contrast of George's cold, wet clothes and his warm skin beneath my hands which moved freely from his arms, up his neck, onto his face as I returned the kiss with every bit of longing that he was so openly showing me.

The kiss was so utterly and completely desperate and, judging by my lightheadedness, and by the fire that burned in my cheeks–and in my heart, and my stomach, and, well, practically throughout every last inch of me–the moment firmly secured itself a spot on the list of The Best Things that Have Ever Happened to Me.

At least until the more rational part of me began to ask annoying questions like _what are you doing?_ and _is this really a good idea?_ and _have you forgotten that George doesn't want to be with you?_ until I could no longer enjoy the kiss for all of the anxious thoughts running through my head, so I broke the intimate connection and pulled back.

I reached up, brushing a few fingertips over my lips. They were slightly swollen and still tingling.

"What was that?" I asked in a shaky voice as I struggled to control and calm my breathing.

George's eyes were still closed, lingering in the moment. "That, Granger, was a kiss," he said, and then he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, like he was still trying to taste me there. His eyes fluttered open at last and he glanced down at me, wearing the softest of smirks. "A bloody good one too."

I gave a nervous little smile in return but it quickly slipped as I felt my stomach winding itself into anxious knots. "Yes," I said, "but why? What did it mean?"

George laughed, now looking confused. "Well, I suppose it meant that I wanted to kiss you."

My heart sank. Whatever I'd been hoping to hear, that wasn't it. I took a step back from George. "We need to get inside before that man comes back," I said, and before George could question me, I started back towards the tent.

Once inside, I shoved Harry's cloak into my bag and then hurriedly moved about, extinguishing all my flames to ready the tent for packing and moving.

George had followed me inside, I heard him come through the flap, I could feel his gaze on me, but I made sure to keep my back to him, because I didn't want him to see that I had tears in my eyes.

I couldn't help the need to sniffle, however, and if the too-soon end of our kiss and the change in my temperament hadn't been enough to give my pain away, the sniffling certainly was.

"Hermione," George said, his voice gentle and sad sounding as he addressed me. "What's wrong?"

Keeping my back to him, I shook my head. "Nothing is wrong."

George took a step closer, rounding on my right side, so I turned away, picking up and folding the small blanket hanging over the back of the sofa, like that was an integral part of our packing up to move camp. I lifted my shoulder and turned my face to wipe a tear from my cheek onto the sleeve of my shirt.

If possible, George sounded even sadder as he said, "Then why won't you look at me?"

Realizing that it was no use trying to hide it, I turned to face him, rolling my eyes and sighing in an _are-you-happy-now _sort of way when he saw my puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

"Granger," he said, my name rolling off his tongue in a way that was full of pity as he immediately moved towards me, then reaching up and using his thumbs to brush the tears away. "Why are you crying?"

I pulled myself away from him and his gentle touches. "Because this hurts."

He narrowed his eyes, not understanding. "What does?"

"This!" I said, gesturing wildly between us. "Us! The way you touch me and kiss me and go out of your way to work me up and make me squirm even though you've made it clear you don't want to be with me. It's cruel, George."

George looked wounded at that. "Why do you still have this idea in your head that I'm toying with you?" he asked. "Okay, so maybe I was at first. Not on purpose, of course! But I admit I was being careless. But after you pointed it out to me that night on my broom, I've been _very_ careful in how I've treated you. I've not made one single flirtatious or inappropriate remark since then!"

"Yes," I said, my tone suddenly cold as I crossed my arms over my chest. "I've noticed."

George's jaw went slack, his mouth falling open slightly. "Now wait just a tick!" he said, coming back to his senses and raising a hand to wag a pointed finger at me. "You can _not_ be upset about that. I thought that was what you wanted!"

"Well it isn't!" I shouted back, my cheeks going red because I knew it made me sound contradictory. "Of course I wanted you to keep flirting with me, to keep coming onto me, to keep saying ridiculously inappropriate things to me," I said, my flush deepening. "I just wanted it to mean something to you!"

George was shaking his head slightly, the heels of his palms pressing against his eye sockets. "Hermione," he said, sounding so tired and confused and, if I wasn't so upset, I might have felt bad for him, because this whole thing _was_ rather complicated.

I'd always been so good at decoding Ginny and Cho for Harry, spelling out their words and actions so that he could understand what they really felt and meant rather than what they _said_, because those were so rarely the same thing, but I couldn't seem to spell things out and be so straight-forward myself with George. It was hard to be so logical when it was my own heart on the line.

"Look," I said, surprised to hear that my voice sounded just as tired as George's. "Let's just drop it, alright? I don't really want to talk about it anymore." George lowered his hands from his face to look at me and he opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't want to hear it so I shook my head to stop him. "We need to move camp. That man knows someone is here. He heard me run to you. That means he'll be back with others soon."

George was biting the inside of his cheek, debating whether or not to say something, but after a moment's deliberation he apparently decided against it. "Yeah," he said softly and sadly, nodding in agreement. "Let's go."

**xx**

It wasn't long before the tent was packed up and we were once again trekking through the dark, wet forest in search of somewhere safer to sleep.

With the threat of being discovered by one of the dark wizards, George and I traveled under the invisibility cloak, something that proved rather awkward considering we had two bags and a broom to carry with us, and both of us seemed determined not to make physical contact with the other.

All that considered, the walk was a slow and uncomfortable one, but we neither heard nor saw anyone else along the way and we eventually found a little sheltered spot to set up camp.

Neither of us spoke as we put up the tent and the protective wards, and we didn't speak as we settled in and got ready for bed that night.

Though I did catch George sneaking little glances at me when he thought I wasn't looking, and by the time I laid down on my cot for sleep, after several solid hours spent in stubborn silence, George looked the most pitiful I had ever seen him.

With a heavy sigh, I waved a hand at the nearest blue flame to extinguish it, but there was still enough light in the tent to allow me the sight of a pajama-clad George as he approached me and then lowered himself down onto the cot next to mine. He sat there on the edge, his legs over the side and his feet on the floor, simply staring down at me.

"Hermione..." he said in such a soft and gentle way that it made my heart ache.

I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to see him.

I heard him get up, heard the soft padding of his bare feet retreating, and felt both relieved and hurt to think that he had given up so soon and walked away.

But then I heard a scraping sound and felt something hit my cot and my eyes popped open just in time to see George lying down and settling himself on his cot which he had scooted over and repositioned so that it was pressed right to the edge of mine.

"George," I protested, because even if I did want him to say or do something to make things better between us, I was pretty sure that it wouldn't involve us lying down together. "Don't do this," I said weakly. It had been a long day–goodness, it had been a long few _weeks_!–and now it was late and I was just too tired for any other incidences that might cause any painful or uncomfortable conversations.

"Please," he said, and now so close together, I could see his eyes in the dark, pleading with me. "I just want to talk. And I want to be able to see you while we do."

I let out a deep breath but didn't answer. I couldn't say no to such a simple request. George was still my friend, after all, and if he needed to talk, I wanted to listen.

George must have taken my silence as permission for him to go on. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said, his tone gentle and cautious but sincere. "I don't flirt with you and wind you up because I'm trying to be cruel, you know..." He trailed off momentarily and I considered telling him that I knew that, that the accusation had been spoken when I was feeling hurt, but he carried on before I had the chance to. "And, no matter what you think, I don't do it just because you happen to be the one here with me."

But here I had to interrupt and speak up. "You said that the whole reason you asked me to stay with you that first night was because you were hurting and I just happened to be there."

I saw George nod, the action slow and thoughtful. "I know," he said at last. "But remember I also told you I've never propositioned a girl for a one night stand before either. If I'd thought that would make me feel better, I could've done it. But it never even crossed my mind. Not until you were standing in my living-room. And you know what that tells me?"

"No," I said, because I honestly didn't.

"I didn't want a _drunken, one-night tryst_ as you so eloquently put it. I didn't want just anyone. I wanted–well–I wanted _you_. As wrong as it might have been for me to ask you to stay, something about being there with you was the most right I'd felt since I lost Fred." George took a deep breath and then released it slowly. "And that's why I kissed you tonight. Because standing there like that with you, and the way you were looking at me, and the way I just wanted to protect you from anyone who might try to hurt you..." He trailed off again, going silent as he considered his words. "I don't really know how to explain it, Granger. It just felt wrong _not_ to kiss you. I've never meant to torture you. But you're right, I have been really careless with your feelings. And that ends tonight, I swear it." I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but he was already pressing on before I could ask. "You're also right that we're still not even close to finding the stone."

Confused, I narrowed my eyes. "I've never said that." Not aloud anyway...

George gave me a small, sad smile. "You didn't have to say it. But you've been thinking it."

I frowned. "George.."

"It's okay, Hermione. You've been right all along. We were never going to find that stone, were we? I was mental to believe it."

Without even thinking about it, I inched closer to George. "You aren't mental. You were hurting and you put your hope in something that you believed could set things right."

"Nah," George said, forcing a soft chuckle that still sounded dejected in spite of itself. "I'm pretty sure I'm just mental."

"George," I scolded, "that's not funny."

"Oh, believe me, I know," he said, and when I raised my eyebrows in question, he let out a shaky breath. "I think I need to make a confession, Hermione."

I felt my heartbeat quicken. Nothing good ever followed a sentence like that. But I steeled myself to remain strong and open-minded about whatever it was he was about to tell me. "What is it?"

George gave a queasy-sounding little groan in response, clearly nervous.

"George?" I prompted, and I heard him take another deep, steadying breath and then release it.

"Fred," he said simply, the name trembling on George's lips as he spoke it. "He's the reason why I was so sure this would work out."

"I'm not sure I understand," I said slowly, trying to work out his meaning.

"Hermione, I told you," George said, his voice now something of an embarrassed whimper.

My eyes widened in understanding. "About hearing Fred, you mean?" I asked and George nodded.

"I can't see him. I never see him," George said, and his voice, though still sad, sounded slightly less mortified. "But I hear his voice. Fred told me about the stone three weeks before I ever even heard those men talking about it in Knockturn Alley. He told me to ask Harry about it."

"_What_?" I said, unable to hide my shock because, whether Fred's voice was a dream or a hallucination or just wishful thinking on George's part, that voice telling him to ask Harry about the stone was a remarkable thing. Too remarkable to be coincidence. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Seriously, Hermione?" George said, now in a dry tone. "Right. Because admitting I hear my dead twin's voice doesn't sound crazy enough on its own without also admitting that this voice is actually telling me to do things." When I didn't immediately answer (and what would I have said? How does one respond to such a thing?) George heaved a sigh and continued. "Seems ol' Dumbledore mentioned it to him over an especially nice pumpkin juice one morning. I tried to ignore it at first, told myself I must've dozed off and that it was just a dream, seeing as Fred and Dumbledore are both dead and really shouldn't be telling me anything at all, you know." George paused, sneaking a nervous glance over at my face to assess how well I was processing this information. "But then I heard those dark wizards talking about, talking about how Harry Potter had found it and used it before he defeated Voldemort, and I guess I felt like it was a sign. Every night in my dreams, and sometimes even during the day when I was wide awake, I could hear Fred telling me to go for it, telling me that it would work." George's words were coming more quickly now, tumbling from his mouth as he finally, honestly, truly confided in me. "You say it only brings back a shade of the person, and I said the same thing to Fred. So he went and asked Dumbledore."

"And what did Dumble–" I stopped suddenly, shaking my head at myself, scarcely believing that I was even asking such a thing. I cleared my throat and tried again. "What did Dumbledore say?"

George gave me a soft smile, thankful that I at least seemed to be humoring him. "Nothing very helpful really. Fred says Dumbledore just kept repeating 'I wonder...' with that old twinkle in his eye. Fred reckoned that was his way of telling us to go for it, without actually giving us permission." George gave a humorless laugh. "It sounds completely mad, I know."

I shook my head. "No," I said slowly and seriously. "No, it doesn't. You know, when Harry used the stone, he saw his parents again. His mother told him they'd never left him. Maybe–" I paused, carefully choosing my words. "Maybe some part of Fred is still with you. Maybe you really are hearing him," I said at last. "You two were so close. From an outsider's perspective, it looked as if you could read each other's thoughts and feelings. You often spoke the same thing at the same time and your movements were so in-sync that it was a bit disturbing, actually." I watched as a smile worked its way across George's mouth and I smiled back at the sight of it. "That isn't just typical twin interaction, George. I've never seen anything else like it." My expression grew more serious again, my voice softer. "And I've heard you. Almost every night. You talk to him in your sleep, and it's not like you're just speaking _at_ him. You pause sometimes. You answer. You laugh at things I can't hear. Like the two of you are really communicating." George's smile had slipped and he suddenly looked embarrassed and unsure of himself once again. So I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly. "And who knows. Maybe you are."

George reached up and placed his hand on top of mine, giving it a small, thankful squeeze. But he still looked so lost. "So why haven't we found the stone?" he asked and I frowned, hating that I didn't have the answer.

"I don't know, George."

We both fell silent for a long moment then, and I removed my hand from his arm, pulling my limb back onto my own cot and hugging it against my chest, wishing like I so often was those days that I could make things better for him.

"Do you know I considered obliviating my memory so that I could forget how much I hurt without him?" George said, his voice surprisingly calm and matter-of-fact, and tears sprung once more to my eyes at the thought. "But I realized that would mean forgetting him entirely. And I just couldn't do that."

I swallowed over the painful lump that had formed in my throat. "I'm glad you couldn't," I said, my voice croaking and breaking as I tried to imagine my life now without George, George as _himself_, no matter how lost and broken he might seem to be. Tears began to seep through my lashes and I blinked them away. "Is that selfish of me?" I asked, now beginning to cry in earnest as a wave of guilt overcame me. "That I would rather have you like this, hurting but _here_ and _yourself_ rather than blissfully unaware and pain-free but no longer really _you_?"

George gave a low chuckle. "Maybe a little," he said, and his hand reached out and found mine, pulling it away from my chest so that he could link our fingers together. "But I think that's why I love you. Because you still seem to want to be around me. Even when I'm like this."

My gaze, which had been glued to the place on my cot where our hands laid entwined, darted immediately back up to George's face.

"What?" I breathed, absolutely certain that I'd misheard him.

George was using his thumb to gently stroke the knuckle of my index finger. "I still don't feel like I can give you what you deserve," he said, and the sorrow he felt at admitting that was evident in his voice. "But I need you. I want you."

"...George."

"And when I say I want you–" he went on, "–I don't mean just physically or as a means to stop hurting. I just want you. I want you to be mine." The breath he let out now sounded shaky, terrified even. "But–"

"Ohhh," I groaned, pulling my hand free from George's, immediately on the verge of tears again. "Have you any idea how much you've made me hate that word?"

But he just reached out for my hand again, dragging it back across the cot and then actually pressing it to firmly to his chest so that I couldn't pull away so easily again. "What is it with you always being so impatient and cutting me off before I can say everything I want to say?" he asked, and I could hear the smile and the gentle teasing in his voice. "Just relax and hear me out, yeah?" he said, and it was hard to argue when both of his hands were held so warm and tight against my own and I could feel the steady pound of his heart beneath my palm. "I want you," he said again, his voice low and serious once more. "I just don't know if this is good for you. That's the only reason I've held back. Because I can't see me ever getting over Fred." His voice cracked with emotion. "No one could ever take his place in my heart, and I'm terrified that it's just going to be broken until the day I die and get to see him again." George's voice was reduced to a shaky whisper, punctuated now with sniffles, but still he kept going. "And at first I thought that what you felt for me was just a little crush and that it would go away–"

"It's not a silly little crush!" I insisted, more tears of my own forming, upset that he could so easily dismiss my feelings when everything I'd done since the night I'd found him at The Leaky Cauldron had proved the lengths that I would go to for him.

George looked mildly pleased by my protests but carried on talking as if I hadn't said anything. "And if there was even the slightest possibility that you would give up and forget your crush and move on and go back to Ron or find _anyone_ else more deserving than me, anyone who could actually be good for you, I wanted you to have that chance. Because you deserve that." I opened my mouth to speak and George held up a hand to stop me. "_But_," he said, now giving me a watery smile, "for some reason that I can't understand, you seem willing to put up with it–with me, like this. And if you're sure this is what you want, then I want to try." He tightened his grip on my hand, pressing it even more firmly against his chest where his heart was pounding like mad. "Because I'm bloody in love with you."

I laid there staring at him, not sure what to say but feeling certain that my heart was about to burst open. Had I fallen asleep? Was I dreaming? Surely that's all this was. This couldn't be real.

"Granger," George said after I'd been silent for several long seconds, and his voice was a mix of gentle amusement and nervousness. "Think you could say something soon? A _yes, George, I want to be with you!_ would be fabulous, but I'd take a _no_ as well, just to put me out of my misery."

"You're in love with me," was all I could manage to get out, and even that sounded weak and shaky because I didn't quite believe it yet.

Leaving one hand pressing mine to his chest, George reached out with the other and cupped my cheek. I went warm all over as I remembered him doing the very same thing while kissing me so intensely earlier that night. Only now he was being much gentler, feather-light and unhurried in his caresses of my cheek bone.

"After everything you've done for me," he said, pausing as he focused on brushing a curl back behind my ear, "how could I not be? You carried me home when you found me drunk. You didn't freak out when I lost it and destroyed the lab in front of you. You didn't laugh in my face or try to ship me off to St. Mungo's when I told you I hear Fred's voice in my head. You're here. Right now. In the middle of the Forbidden Forest where you've been helping me look–in the miserable, pouring rain, might I add–for two weeks for something that you don't even think is a good idea for me to find!"

I frowned at him. "But what you're describing sounds like gratitude. You appreciate my friendship; you're grateful that I've been helping you."

"Hermione, I do appreciate your friendship," he said. "And I am _eternally_ grateful for everything you've done to help me. But honestly, Granger, were you not present during that kiss earlier tonight?"

I rolled my eyes but smiled, my stomach flipping at the memory. "Yes. I believe I was."

George's fingertips made a trail from my cheek down to my lips which he tenderly traced, staring at them as he too relived the memory. "I don't know about you, but I don't tend to kiss people like _that_ just because I'm grateful for their friendship." He let his fingers fall away from my mouth and he looked back up at me, his gaze meeting mine once again. "I want to be together," he said, and his eyes were still wet and glistening as he added, "if you'll have me."

Though I felt as if my entire body had melted into a puddle, I somehow managed to push myself up to my elbows and, keeping my eyes locked on George's, I slid across the small space of my cot, over the edge, and onto his. And in answer to his question, asking whether or not I would have him, I leaned my face into his and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Surprised by my forwardness, it took George a moment to understand what was happening and to respond to it, but he quickly came to and, apparently happy with my answer, he eagerly took control, wrapping me in his arms and rolling me over so that I was resting on my back with George towering over me as he deepened the kiss. It was just as intense as the kiss we'd shared earlier, but for different reasons. It was so soft.. so tender.. intimate to the point of being almost overwhelming.. and a moment later, a few tears trickled down the bridge of George's nose and onto mine as we kissed. I didn't mind at all, but George pulled back, an apologetic expression on his lovely face.

"I'm sorry," he said, bringing a hand up to gently wipe his tears away from the place where they'd landed on my nose and then fallen down onto my right cheek.

I gave him a sad but sympathetic smile. "It's alright," I said, and I reached up with both hands, running my thumbs across the delicate skin beneath his eyes to brush away the wetness there.

He leaned down and placed another soft kiss to my mouth, and then he laid down beside me, keeping his arms around me and holding me close against his chest.

"We'll go home tomorrow," he said, his voice quiet and gravelly with emotion, and I suddenly understood the tears that had made their way into our kiss.

"George," I said, craning my neck so I could peer up into his face. "No."

His chest rumbled and vibrated against mine as he laughed a sorrowful little laugh. "I thought we talked about this. Isn't this what you want? You never thought any of this was a good idea, remember?"

"That doesn't mean it's what I want, George." I wiggled in closer to him, burying my face into the little crook beneath his chin, hoping that the closeness and the physical contact would ease the pain for both of us. "Of course I don't want this. I want you to be happy again. If I could bring Fred back for you, I would." He didn't say anything, but he squeezed me tighter. "I know I've made it clear that I didn't agree with this–with trying to find and use the stone–but..." I trailed off, shaking my head as best I could in the minuscule amount of space available to me. "I guess I just didn't think you would give up so quickly. That's not like you. If you want to stay and keep looking, then _I_ want to stay and keep looking."

George was sniffling again and I could feel his chin moving against the top of my head as he shook his. "It hurts too much to keep hoping," he said, his voice quivering as he spoke. "To keep looking day after day, with nothing but a ghost's voice inside my head telling me to keep going. And I'm afraid that if I don't stop now, if I don't let go of this idea of bringing Fred back, I'm going to lose myself completely."

I weaved my arm through the beautifully tangled knot our limbs and torsos had created, wrapping it around his back and hugging him to me, like I could prevent that from happening, like I could protect him from losing himself if I just held onto him tight enough.

We fell silent for a long while, George lost in his thoughts, and me searching for a way to keep him there in the moment with me.

"How long have you known?" I finally asked him.

"Hmm?"

"Th–that you love me," I stuttered slightly, still having a difficult time coming to terms with this wild notion. "How long have you known?"

I felt George's chest expand and then deflate as he took and released a deep, steady breath. "A while, I think."

"...Really?" I asked, surprised by that answer.

He nodded. "Yeah. Maybe since I found out that you dragged Harry out to Knockturn Alley in the middle of the night to look for me. Or when you stood up to me and told me you wouldn't help me look for the stone. Or maybe when you gave in and agreed." George paused, chuckling softly. "Or when I found you in your apartment that day, asleep on the couch with that massive book on your chest. Or when I realized that you trusted me so much that you fell asleep while on my broom when everyone knows you're completely terrified of flying." With the one hand that was still sandwiched between us, I playfully smacked him, smiling when he laughed again. "I'm not sure the exact moment it hit me, but I've felt it for a while. I just generally tried to avoid thinking about it." He brought a hand up and began combing his fingers gently through the hair on the back of my head. "Because I know I'm not good enough for you. Not like this."

I pushed myself up onto my elbows and stared down into his face, fixing him in a serious gaze. "Stop saying that, George," I said gently but firmly, and then I leaned down and kissed him, short and sweet, and when it ended, I pulled back just enough so that I could whisper against his lips. "You're wonderful."

I laid down beside him again, scooting back just enough so that I could better see his face. The kiss had him looking a great deal more cheerful, but still he rolled his eyes, not believing me. "Am I?"

I nodded resolutely. "You are. You're intelligent. And funny. And kind. And strong."

George scoffed. "Oh, yes. Because crying onto your lady's face while kissing her is just the epitome of manly strength."

I ignored him. "And you're incredibly beautiful," I added, both because it was true and because I couldn't imagine him passing up such an open invitation to be arrogant.

"Ah, well," he said with a light sigh. "You've got me there."

I pursed my lips, fighting back a smirk. "And so modest too."

"A bit difficult to feel modest about my good looks around you, Granger," he said very matter-of-factly. "Especially after the way you were eyeing my gloriously-toned abdominal muscles the other week."

"George.."

"Oh, there's no use trying to deny it, love. I caught you." George sat up, propping himself on one elbow so that he could look down at me as he spoke. "I saw the look in your eye. You were eyeing me like you were a werewolf and I was a delicious piece of meat that you were just dying to bite into.." He leaned down slowly, moving in for my exposed neck, letting his lips hover so close above me that I could feel his warm breath there...

And then he attacked me like a wild animal, growling and snarling and nipping the skin very lightly with his teeth.

"George!" I squealed, gasping for breath as I laughed and wiggled and struggled against him and half-heartedly attempted to push him away even as I craned my neck to give him easier access.

The sound of my laughter proved too much for George and he soon joined in, the growls fading away into low, throaty chuckles until at last he ceased his assault, pressing one last kiss to my cheek this time before he dropped back to the cot beside me.

"C'mere," he said, his voice still warm and entertained, but softer now. I inched towards him and he took the opportunity to pull me in close again, slipping one arm under my neck and wrapping the other around my waist. He sighed. "Stay close, alright?" he asked, and once again I heard words that he wasn't speaking aloud. _Stay close. Right now. Tonight. Like this. Tomorrow too. Always, for that matter. I need you. Don't leave. Stay close._

"I'm not going anywhere," I told him, snuggling into him even more to prove it.

**xx**

The new day dawned bright and early, and it wasn't long before George and I had breakfasted and tidied the tent and packed our things away, just as we did every morning before we went out searching for the stone, or before looking for a new place to set up our tent. Only this time our routine was interrupted by sweet glances that we stole as we moved about the room, and lingering kisses whenever we passed within arms' reach of each other.

And this time, we weren't just packing up to move camp. We were packing up to go home.

"Do you want to have one last look before we go?" I asked him as he stood just inside the tent's entrance, his bag over one arm and his broom cradled in the other.

He pulled open the flap, hesitating for a moment as he considered the idea. But at last he shook his head, turning back to me with a smile that was both happy at the sight of me and sad at the prospect of giving up on the one thing that might bring Fred back to him. "No," he said. "It's time to go home."

And with a firm nod, making his choice, he turned back around and took one step through the tent's opening and out into the world outside.

And then he froze.

He back was still to me, his form still visible as he stood just beyond the tent's opening, and I heard his breath hitch in his chest and I watched as his broom and his bag both slipped from his arms and fell to the ground.

"George?" I said, already sprinting towards him, scared that would I get outside and find that the wizard from the night before had returned with others and had somehow managed to find us..

But as I got closer, as I stepped through the opening and reached George's side, I realized that his face was tilted down, his gaze drawn to something on the ground.

I couldn't see anything at first, just mud and scattered piles of soggy leaves, but then a stray shaft of sunlight–the first sunlight that we had seen in weeks–reached suddenly through the treetops high above, coming to rest on a small patch of mud just before our feet. The light caught something there, reflecting off a smooth, black surface and glinting golden back into my eyes, and I gasped.

There, lying on the forest floor, just outside the entrance to our tent as if it had just been waiting for us to step outside and find it, was the resurrection stone.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

One chapter left, y'all! (And then a teensy little epilogue :))

Also, we've surpassed 100 reviews! That's so awesome. Thank you all SO much for taking the time to review. It feels so good to hear that people are enjoying this fic. It is sooo appreciated. THANK YOU!


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: **A couple of anon/guest reviewers have made the comment that they would follow me to be alerted of future stories but aren't sure how. I believe you need to set up an account and sign in, at which point you will have options to favorite and/or follow stories and authors :) If you prefer to lurk and don't want to set up an account, then just feel free to keep checking back in the next couple weeks. The new story will show up on my profile :)

Also, totally random but.. do any of you make fanvideos? There aren't nearly enough Fred/George ones out there. I feel like I've watched every single one on youtube a hundred times :( haha. So if you enjoy making fanvids, get to work on some Weasley Twin ones! (And then send me the links so I can watch! :D)

This is the last official chapter, you guys! As always, I hope you enjoy :) :)

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Hermione?" George said weakly. "Is that–Do you see–" he stuttered and stumbled over his words, and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears as he added, "–please tell me I'm not dreaming."

"Not unless we're having the same dream, George," I said softly, bending down to the ground. Heart thrumming in my chest, I plucked the stone from the earth with my thumb and forefinger and carefully rose once more to my feet.

George was unmoving, still frozen in place as he stared at the stone, so I reached out and grabbed his right hand, lifting and turning it until his palm was outstretched and facing up between us. His hand trembled and shook as I placed the small black stone within it.

He looked at me briefly then, his eyes darting up to meet my gaze, and his bright blue irises were clouded with pain, the lines of his face strained with the conflict he felt. "Hermione," he said in a shaking whisper. "I have to."

I swallowed my fear and gave him a frail smile. I had seen what the loss had done to George. I'd felt the tears, the evidence of his heartache, even as he'd held me in his arms and kissed me the night before. This is what we had come for; if he didn't try, he would regret it forever.

I made an effort to widen my smile for him, and then I nodded. "I know."

Looking back down at the stone, George sucked in a breath which he held in his lungs as he slowly turned the stone over in his still-trembling hand.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I don't think either of us breathed, and I clamped a hand over my mouth which had fallen open as a figure began to materialize out of thin air before us. It was tall and lean, a mirror image of George, except that it was translucent, glowing ghostly blue for a few seconds before the ethereal light from within him dimmed and the figure was left standing there, flaming red hair and pale skin... but no longer transparent.

The stone fell from George's hand and a strangled cry tore from his throat. "..Fred?"

A slow and brilliant smile spread across the other twin's face. "Hey, Georgie."

"Hermione?" George croaked as he addressed me now. "Do you see him? Is he really there?"

Hands still covering my mouth in my shock, I nodded. And then I realized that George wasn't looking at me. "Yes," I whispered through my fingers. I did see him. Fred was there. And I supposed I wasn't quite sure exactly what a _shade_ should look like, having only ever read about them and listened to others' accounts but never actually seen one myself, but I did know that Fred looked rather substantial to me. Though I was too scared to touch him and find out for certain.

George, however, had no such qualms, immediately throwing himself at his twin with such force that Fred was almost knocked flat over, and I gasped as Fred stumbled backward but ultimately steadied himself and caught George, wrapping him up in a tight embrace. Fred was completely solid, flesh and bones that didn't yield even though George leaned into him, clung to him, hugged him so tightly that he might've broken if their strengths weren't so equally matched.

He wasn't a shade. He was just Fred Weasley.

Sturdy.. Whole.. Alive.

George's back was to me and he had his forehead pressed against the top of Fred's shoulder, his face hidden from view, and I watched as his shoulders began to shake. The sight was so reminiscent of that day down in the shop, when I'd stood and watched his back and shoulders tremble as he'd cried and grieved. He sobbed even harder now than he had that day, but this time it was out of relief.. out of comfort.. out of joy.. and my own eyes began to water as my heart swelled for him.

"You know, George," Fred began, wearing a wide, watery-eyed smile of his own, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you may have missed me or something."

George made a loud noise that, though still punctuated with jagged sobs, was very much a laugh. "You have no bloody idea."

Fred pulled back from the embrace, his hands moving to grasp the sides of George's face as he moved in, pressing a firm kiss to his twin's temple, and when Fred pulled back again, there was heartache etched into every line of his face. "But I do," he said, his expression and tone so serious, so heavy-hearted.

George peered into his brother's face, his gaze searching the identical blue eyes just a few inches in front of his own, and some sort of unspoken communication must have passed between them because George's bottom lip parted ever-so-slightly from the top one as he suddenly understood the meaning behind Fred's last sentence. "I wasn't just imagining it. I wasn't mental," George breathed. "You really could hear me."

"I always hear you, Georgie," Fred said, eyes still teary as he smiled softly back at his brother. "Sometimes your voice was louder than others, of course. I think I could hear you better the more you were hurting."

"I heard you when you got that sinking feeling in your gut, when you saw Percy crying and first knew that something was wrong," he said. "And then when you saw my body. When you sat in our old room at The Burrow. When you had to face the shop, and then our flat, for the first time on your own–"

George's breathing had gone shallow and shaky. "I had no idea anything could ever feel so lonely.."

"And when you blew the mirror to bits–" Fred pressed on.

"I couldn't even see myself in the reflection anymore," George said. "All I could see was you.."

"And then when you destroyed my bedroom–"

"I was furious with you for leaving me," George admitted, now looking sheepish and a little bit ashamed.

"I know," Fred said gently. "But you fixed it, and I heard that too."

George's face suddenly flushed. "So I suppose you heard _all_ of that that night, did you?" he asked, his tone apprehensive.

Fred smirked. "The part with you sleeping in my bed with one of my shirts, you mean?"

George groaned, embarrassed. "Still smelled like you.." he mumbled, and Fred's smile softened.

"Don't be embarrassed on my account, Georgie," he said. "If it makes you feel any better, I carried your ear around with me for weeks."

George's eyebrows shot up. "You did what?"

Fred nodded. "Yep. Your cursed-off ear. Sirius gave it to me. He thought it was amusing."

"..You're joking."

Fred laughed but shook his head. "I'm not."

"Alright, I think you've got me beat there, Freddie. I didn't carry any body parts around with me," George said, shaking his head in amused disbelief for just a moment before his expression grew serious once again. "Wait a tick," he said slowly. "My being able to hear you–" he paused, obviously working something out in his head, "–it all started the night..." he trailed off, dropping his gaze and sucking in a breath, suddenly unwilling to meet his twin's gaze as he finished, "the night I thought about offing myself."

Fred's face lost nearly all of its already-pale color. "That was the clearest I've ever heard you, George," he said, speaking in what was now little more than a scared whisper, apparently having as hard a time as George in discussing this particular subject. Fred cleared his throat and tried again. "Sirius had given me your ear just the day before and, feeling a bit desperate, hearing all the things that were going through your head that night–" Fred, his eyes red and filled with tears again, shook his head as if to rid himself of the painful memory, "–I sorta started talking to it. To your ear."

Eyes still shining with moisture, George actually managed a grin at this. "What, like, you were up there sitting on a cloud just talking into my severed ear?"

Fred good-naturedly rolled his eyes towards the sky, looking a bit embarrassed. "Well, we're not just hanging around on clouds with harps and wings, you know. And it sounds a bit ridiculous when you say it all blunt like that. But it was all I had of you, alright?" At this, George's teasing smile faded into a gentler one. "And anyways," Fred went on, "turned out that you heard me!"

"But you doubted it for the longest time, brushing it off, telling me to shut up, pretending that you hadn't heard anything at all." Fred pursed his lips, shaking his head at his twin as if to admonish George for his doubt and all the pain and trouble it had caused Fred. "It was easier when you were asleep. You didn't over-think. You didn't question it so much. I even got you to laugh a few times, didn't I? 'Course you always just chalked it up to being a dream the next morning."

"I thought I was going completely nutters," George said, reaching up and running a hand through his hair as he let it sink in that he really had been hearing his dead twin's voice in his head all along. He gave a shaky laugh. "I thought for sure I was on my way to a permanent home in St. Mungo's."

"Yeah," Fred said with a frown. "For a while there, mate, I was worried you might be too. I've never known you to be like that–so completely lost, I mean. It was bloody terrifying. And you being so miserable made _me_ miserable."

"Really?" George said, as if this surprised him. "Aren't we supposed to be eternally happy up there? Impossible to be sad and all that?"

Fred shrugged. "Apparently that's the way it's _supposed_ to be," he said. "But it wasn't. Not for me."

"Because you were miserable."

"Utterly and completely," Fred said. "I mean, don't get me wrong," he added. "It's great and I actually can't wait to go back. But I couldn't exactly enjoy myself knowing you were down here having fun without me, could I? S'why they told me about the stone. So I could tell you and you could find it and bring me back. Because I was miserable and moping and bringing everyone else down." Fred tried to laugh, tried to joke it off and to make light of it, but in the end he sighed and met George's gaze with a pained look in his eyes. "I couldn't stand being away from you. And I couldn't stand hearing how much you were hurting without me. No matter how brilliant it was up there, I guess I just wanted you with me."

"And yet you wouldn't let me kill myself to join you," George pondered.

"Yes, well, my selfishness does know _some_ bounds," Fred said, once again speaking with an exaggerated air of nonchalance, and then he leaned in, playfully knocking George's shoulder with his own. "There's no way I could've given you the silent treatment for the rest of eternity though, you know."

George used his shoulder to nudge Fred back. "I know." And then George took a deep breath in through his nose, blowing it out through his mouth. "So this is real?" he asked, and as if trying to answer his own question, he reached out to touch Fred again, gripping his arms, shaking him gently by the shoulders, and then tentatively putting a hand to Fred's cheek. George looked oddly timid as he did this, but Fred just smiled gently back at his twin, allowing him this time to prove to himself that it was all real if that was what he needed. "You're really back?" George whispered. "But are you going to vanish again? Because I couldn't..." his voice broke off, the emotion too much.

Fred grasped George by the shoulders, holding him steady and forcing George to look him in the eye. "I'm really back, George," he said. "I'm not going to vanish." And when George still looked afraid to believe him, Fred touched his forehead to his twin's, grinning as he said, "I solemnly swear it."

And, just like that, the boys were hugging again, sniffling and laughing and muttering muffled words that I couldn't quite make out. But, just as quickly as it had begun, the hug came to an abrupt end as George suddenly pulled back, letting out a long string of swears and giving Fred a rather rough shove to the chest.

"Don't you ever go dying on me again!" George demanded, laughing even as he reached up to wipe the tears from his face.

Fred's eyes were glistening too but he joined in his brother's laughter. "I have it on good authority that we'll go together next time," he said. "I put in a request to make it something exciting. Like a big, fiery explosion that takes out our entire shop because we've gone so old and senile that we mix something horrible together while creating new products."

"Excellent!" George said, the grin on his face bigger and brighter and happier than any I'd ever seen.

And my heart almost burst as I looked at him. Because this was everything I'd wanted for him: for George to have his own heart's desires fulfilled. For George to smile again. To laugh. To be full of love and live. To be happy.

And that was exactly what he had gotten.

Only now, elated though I was for him, some small part of me ached as I wondered if this was it for George and me. We had come together over his grief for Fred, after all. And now that Fred was back, it was highly probable that George wouldn't need me anymore...

And after holding back my own emotions so that the boys could have their moment, I felt everything bubbling to the surface, until at last I couldn't fight the weight of all the conflicting feelings battling it out inside of me. The sadness, the worry, the relief, the overwhelming joy, it was all too much.

At the sudden sound of my sniffling, the twins both turned their heads to look at me, the movement so in-sync that I couldn't help but laugh through my tears as George reached for me and pulled me into him.

"Hermione," he murmured against the top of my head. "_Thank you_. Thank you for doing this for me."

I hugged him back, tighter than ever, scared that it might be the last time we would ever stand together like this. "You could have done it on your own," I said, bringing my arms in so that they were pressed against the warmth of George's chest. I gripped fistfuls of his shirt and blinked back tears. "I didn't do much."

George pulled back then and I ached at the distance. "Hermione," he said again, shaking his head as he stared down at me. "You did more than you could ever know."

And then he kissed me again. A soft kiss. A deep kiss. A love-filled kiss.

And with the feel of his lips pressed so sweetly to mine, all my fears were proved unfounded. Even as the kiss ended, I felt a quiet confidence I was certain I hadn't known before and I suddenly knew, however it had started, that this was real.

A low chuckle from somewhere to my right pulled me from my reverie, and George and I both turned our heads to look at Fred.

He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised in amusement, and a smirk firmly in place on his mouth. "Well I reckon this clears things up for me."

Suddenly realizing that our kiss had taken place before an audience, I felt my cheeks go warm and I reached up to run a hand nervously over my hair. But I couldn't stop smiling.

George smiled too, but didn't appear at all embarrassed that Fred had witnessed our affectionate moment. He kept his arms around me, casually linking his hands behind my back. "Clears what up, brother dearest?"

"Well, I was a bit curious as to why I kept overhearing you fantasizing about having your way with Granger," Fred said, laughing. "I mean, he's had these sorts of thoughts about you before, of course," he said to me now, pausing to give George a slow wink, "but the frequency and intensity of those thoughts these past few weeks..." Fred trailed off, ending in a long, low whistle as he teasingly shook his head at his twin.

"_Fred_," I said, shifting the weight from one foot to the other as my blush deepened. George, however, just laughed, not possessing the decency to even _pretend_ like he felt scandalized by Fred's comments. Instead, they just beamed identical smiles at one another.

"Alright now, Granger. Forge," Fred said, addressing us each and then reaching out and playfully rubbing the top of George's head, his fingers purposefully mussing up the ginger hair there. "What d'you say? Shall we go home?"

George looked back to me, raising his eyebrows in question, and I nodded as I mirrored the huge smile worn by both him and Fred.

"Yeah. Let's go home," George agreed, dropping his arms from my back but keeping one of my hands held tightly in his while Fred came around to walk on his other side, the two casually slinging an arm over the other's shoulder. "Wait," he said, stopping so suddenly that it jerked Fred and I back.

"What?" Fred asked.

The look on George's face worried me. "What's wrong?" I said.

George's head turned on his shoulders, his gaze moving back and forth from me to his twin. "What are we going to tell mum and the others?" he asked at last. "No one but Harry will ever believe we used the stone, let alone that it was Dumbledore's idea."

Fred seemed to ponder George's question for a moment, but then he gave a shrug like he wasn't the slightest bit worried about it. "I'll just tell them that I was causing too much trouble, so the Big Guy kicked me out and sent me back. You know Mum will believe that."

There was a short, silent pause as the three of us looked at each other, considering this, and it was George who broke first, the tight, worried line of his mouth stretching into a grin...

And then all three of us were laughing.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I've had a few reviews from people hoping that the stone would allow Fred and George one final goodbye so that George can move on and be happy.. so I hope no one is disappointed that I chose to bring Fred back entirely. I know.. the stone is not supposed to work that way..

But I just caaaaaan't! I can't leave Fred dead and separated from George D: Hahaha. I remember when I first read the HP series, my brother had already finished them, so I called him up because I was so upset over Dobby's death. And he was like, "It gets worse. More people die.." And I remember saying to him, "As long as Fred and George live, I'll be okay!" ... *sobs* Little did I know! :( So now I write fanfic ;) I live in a happy bubble of denial where Fred gets to live. Because Fred and George are a package deal and it's just wrong to separate them! I hope no one minds too much ;)

Also, just a quick disclaimer to say that this chapter is in no way representative of my beliefs regarding Heaven and "the afterlife." Haha :P This is purely for the purpose of fiction and, more specifically, how it ties into the little glimpse of afterlife we seen in HP :)

Thank you all so much for reading along and for leaving such wonderful reviews. Y'all are so great :)

..STAY TUNED FOR THE EPILOGUE! :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Epilogue**

September 1st was soon upon us and, just as in many years past, I found myself standing on Platform 9 & 3/4 with Harry and a handful of bright-haired Weasleys. Only, this year, I stood at George Weasley's side, my arm weaved through his, my head resting against his shoulder.

I think I had always known that this would be my decision, that I would choose to return to Hogwarts to finish my final year, but the decision hadn't been an easy one for me, and now I was watching Harry and Mrs. Weasley taking turns hugging Ginny and watching other students disappearing onto the Hogwarts Express while I myself was avoiding boarding, putting it off until the very last second when I would be forced to let go of George and to say our last goodbye.

Neville Longbottom walked past the place where I stood with George and Fred, and I smiled at the sight of him. "Hello, Neville," I said.

He turned his face and, when his gaze found mine, he smiled in return. "Hey, Hermione. How are you?"

"I'm wonderful, thanks. And you?" I didn't have to ask how he was, really. I could see that he was great–his smile was bright and he held his head up when he walked now, rather than hunching his shoulders and staring dejectedly down at his feet as he used to–but I asked to be polite.

"I'm great, actually. Just here to see Luna off," he said, a shy, boyish grin spreading over his face. "I'll see you around?" he asked, and when I nodded he lifted his hand to wave goodbye as he started to walk away.

"Oi," said Fred suddenly. "What about me, Neville? Do I not get a hello?"

Neville glanced back at the redheaded twin. "Oh," he said, looking mildly surprised, like he hadn't seen him standing there. "Morning, George."

Fred frowned. "I'm not George. I'm Fred!"

"Ah, right," Neville said with an apologetic grimace like he was embarrassed at having mixed up the twins. "Morning, Fred," he corrected, and then he waved goodbye a second time and resumed his steps away from us.

For a moment it seemed as if he was going to just continue on his way, but then Neville skidded to a sudden halt, his head slowly craning back to look in our direction, and I watched as he looked back and forth from Fred to George, apparently realizing for the first time that there were in fact _two_ Weasley Twins standing there.

Neville's eyes went wide, his face suddenly drained of all its color.

Fred grinned. "Alright there, Longbottom? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

And then Neville took off at a run down the platform.

Fred's face fell, and now he looked a bit insulted. "Oi!" he said, sprinting off after Neville and, even after he'd disappeared into the crowd, we could hear his shouts of, "It was a joke! It really is me! I'm alive!"

George and I were still laughing as he reached across with his free arm, grabbing me and swinging me around until I stood in front of him rather than beside. He wrapped his arms around my back, his laughter fading away into a gentle smile as he stared down at me, and as I gazed back up at him, I suddenly felt less sure about my decision to leave.

It was important, of course. I needed to take my N.E.W.T.s. If I was to have the sort of life and career I wanted for myself, I had to finish. I knew that.

But I also knew that parting from George felt like an overwhelmingly high price.

"You promise you'll be there the first Hogsmeade weekend?" I asked, now dropping my gaze as I moved in to wrap my arms around George's midsection, turning my head and pressing my cheek to his chest as I hugged him. I didn't want to let go.

Seeming to sense this, George tightened his grip on me and then placed a kiss to the top of my head. "I wouldn't miss it for anything, love," he said, his tone sincere, promising me. "But you know," he went on, his voice taking on a much more mischievous feel. "I _do_ know all sorts of secret passages into the castle. So there's really no need to wait that long. I could be in the Room of Requirement after supper tonight, all ready and waiting for your snogging pleasure."

"_George_," I said in my best warning tone, but when I pulled back to look at him, I was smiling.

"Look at you, Miss Granger," he said, shaking his head at me and then making a gentle clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth as he pretended to admonish me. "You're actually considering it." I playfully shoved at his chest, but he just grinned because we both knew that he was right. "Don't you worry that pretty head of yours. I'll be seeing you much sooner than you think," he said, pausing just long enough to wink at me. "I'll send instructions for where and when. You just await my owl."

I rolled my eyes, still grinning like an idiot. "So what you're saying is that while I'm trying to finish my final year, to study and do well on my N.E.W.T.s, you are going to be doing everything you can to be a bad influence on me. Is this correct?"

"Oh, Granger," George began, his bright blue eyes twinkling in a way that I had learned many years ago meant he was feeling particularly wicked. "You have no idea," he said, suddenly lowering his voice so that only I could hear. "I've wanted to corrupt you since the day I met you."

"Is that so..?" I asked, leaning in to him..

He leaned in even closer, whispering, "that is very, very so..."

I flashed him an equally wicked smirk and then rose up on my tiptoes to kiss him, deeply and unabashedly, in front of everyone on the crowded platform. I hummed contentedly into the kiss, hands gently tugging at his ginger hair before I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed myself flush up against him. I lingered for what must have been ages (though still much too short a time to be there with him like that..) and when at last I pulled back, George was pink-cheeked and gazing down at me with a slightly-shocked but thoroughly-pleased expression.

Everyone nearby was staring at us: Fred, having just returned from chasing down Neville, wearing a knowing smirk on his mouth, Harry with both eyebrows raised, clearly on the verge of laughing, and Mrs. Weasley just as pink-faced as George, though apparently conflicted as to whether she should be pleased or offended by our public display of affection. Others were looking too. Former classmates. Parents. Complete strangers.

But I found that I didn't mind. It was worth it for that look on George's face.

I pressed one more swift kiss to his lips and then smiled up at him. "Well, I suppose you got your wish."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hehe. I just thought you all might enjoy a fluffy little glimpse into what the future will hold for Hermione, since we started this fic out with her trying to decide what to do next.

And I thought it'd be funny to see Fred having to deal with explaining his sudden reappearance when everyone who knows him knows he's supposed to be dead ;)

I have had SO much fun writing this story and am looking forward to posting more, so I hope those of you who are interested will follow me over to other fics!

And, because I haven't said it nearly enough, thank you SO much to those of you who've read through this whole thing and especially to those of you who have reviewed. You have no idea how much I've enjoyed hearing your thoughts and kind words and how much fun I've had messaging with you guys about the twins and the HP-universe! Y'all are all so awesome and friendly and I'm sending each and every one of you big squishy cyber hugs! xx


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